


Fryecest One-Shots

by PoetHrotsvitha



Series: Bloodlines [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Fluff, Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:20:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7651693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetHrotsvitha/pseuds/PoetHrotsvitha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's exactly what it says on the tin, folks, ranging from straight fluff to pure smut. Additional tags and ratings at beginning of each chapter. </p><p>All can be read as independent one-shots or as a companion pieces to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6769843"><strong>In Trutina</strong></a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Penny Dreadful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slice of life. If life involved running London’s most notorious gang, solving crimes as a favour, and trying to focus through your brother’s amorous advances.
> 
> RATING: Teen. Tags: Confessions of Love, Fluff, Carriage Groping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ungarn Moc and her requests. 
> 
> Spoilers for dreadful crimes.

“And where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Jacob’s question was lazy and relaxed, tossed out in obvious hope that she would stop being in a hurry and come and join him instead. Evie glanced back at him, a ridiculously dainty cup of tea gripped in his hands and his feet propped up comfortably on the sofa; in his old and favourite coat, he looked for all the world like he was ready to start begging on a street corner instead of running London’s biggest gang.

She went back to lacing up her boots. “I’ve had word from Artie, he wants me to look at something.”

He groaned. “You’re still following up with that?”

“I don’t see any need for that tone,” she said, a bit resentful. “It’s always an interesting situation when Artie seeks me out, and there’s no harm in ensuring that the correct criminal is apprehended.”

He swung his feet forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “That’s all very well, but between acting as Marx’s bodyguard and hunting ghostly baddies for Dickens, I thought you’d had enough of charity projects for a while.”

Evie tried to maintain a dignified tone. “It’s a virtue to help others, Jacob.”

“It’s a virtue to help others. It’s madness to adopt eleven strays.”

Oh yes, she thought, shooting him a sour look. Thank you very much for reminding me.

Back in Crawley, when they were around twelve or thirteen, she had found an abandoned kitten mewling in the shadow of one of her cabbages. Clearly underweight and weak, it had barely been able to move. She had immediately taken pity on it; how could she not? It was easy enough to sneak out little scraps of fish and bowls of milk until it regained its strength, but even after it had recovered, it had continued to seek her out for treats. Unfortunately, some of the other neighbourhood cats had smelled the food, and she had soon had a second hungry cat on the doorstep. And then a third. And then a fourth.

But they were all so small and helpless, and it was so hard to turn them away when they curled around her legs and purred so hopefully. Soon, she had found herself giving up more and more of their weekly shop. Jacob caught on somewhere around the fifth cat and teased her mercilessly about it. Father realized once the number of cats had reached almost a dozen and there was noticeably less fish at supper.

He banned her from leaving food out after that.

“This isn’t the same,” she sniffed at Jacob.

“Aw, pet,” he clucked, “have I hurt your feelings?”

“No, it's just not the same.”

“But both of them stem from your deep-seated inability to say ‘no’, so they are the same.”

She finished with her boots and stood to face him irritably. “I’m leaving now. Do you have anything else to add?”

He heaved a deep sigh before he set his now-empty teacup down. “Only that if you insist on going, I'm coming along.”

\---

When they arrived, Artie and Mr. Raymond were waiting on the sidewalk.

Mr. Raymond looked gleeful. “Here’s an especially exciting one,” he said, practically rubbing his hands together. “Perfect for a penny dreadful.”

Artie piped up. “The same professor dies twice.”

“That’s one more than usual,” Mr. Raymond said helpfully. “Twice as many sales,” he added more to himself. “My name will soon be known across the nation!”

Artie pointed out the house where one Professor Byng had died- twice- and Evie and Jacob went off in that direction.

When they got to the door, they found their way blocked by two surly looking police constables.

“Can I _help_ you,” the shorter one said, looking like he had absolutely no intention of helping them.

“Yes,” Evie started, “we would like to take a look at the--”

She didn’t even get a chance to finish. “No civilians,” the taller one barked. “Police only.”

Evie gave him a cold look. They drew back a little- as they should, that look had felled much more dangerous men- but annoyingly, they held firm. “Sergeant Abberline,” she said with emphasis, “is an especial friend of mine, and I would like to see the scene.”

The shorter one cleared his throat. “Well then, Miss, I’m sure we could make an exception for a small fee.”

Jacob narrowed his eyes. “You dirty little--”

Evie grabbed Jacob’s arm and drew him a few steps away. Back when they had recently arrived in London, she wouldn’t have said no to taking out the occasional corrupt policeman.

But they weren’t unknown entities any more. The Rooks were a sprawling organisation now, and their own movements reflected on the gang as a whole. Most importantly, Sergeant Abberline was already uneasy enough. Life was much easier with him on side, and the fastest way to lose his hesitant loyalty would surely be to get caught doing away with policemen, corrupt or not.

“We promised Sergeant Abberline, Jacob,” she muttered firmly, shooting a filthy look at the bobbies.

“Are you sure?” Jacob said, looking murderous.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“We could check the back entrance or one of the upper windows.”

“Yes, we could, but we’ll need to look around the ground floor, and it’s clearly visible from where those buggers are standing.”

“What, then,” Jacob grumbled. “We give up?”

“It’s irritating, but we shall just have to wait until they leave.” Conveniently, she spotted a Rook carriage sitting further down the street. “If they’re as lazy as they are disagreeable, I’m sure it won’t be a long wait.”

The carriage was being used for a joyride by a few Rooks, but they were more than happy to hand it over. Evie clambered in and drew the drapes, leaving them open just enough that she could see the front entrance of Professor Byng’s door. Jacob followed with a sigh, folding his long legs, hunching a little awkwardly in the cramped space.

The sun was already low in the sky. They kept their vigil as the air turned brisk, lamplighters moving along and bringing a dim glow to the darkening street. It couldn’t have been more than hour when Jacob moved, leaning across the small gap in the carriage. He reached out and ghosted his fingers along her neck, gently rubbing from her earlobe down to her shoulder.

“What,” she said quietly, “do you think you're doing?”

“Nothing,” he murmured, leaning over further and bracing his arms against the wall behind her, breath warm on her ear. He used his hands to tilt her head slightly, pushing his lips to her exposed neck.

“Is that so.”

“Mm.”

“This isn't exactly the time,” she pointed out weakly, shivering as goosebumps rose along her exposed skin.

Her scarf had somehow come loose and his fingers were working at the top buttons of her blouse now, picking them open. “I think it’s an excellent time.” Fingers against the back of her neck, he moved upwards, pressing the gentlest of kisses to her lips.

She gave an inch, shifting a little and parting her lips just a fraction. He promptly took a mile, falling back against his side of the carriage and hoisting her onto his lap. Not quite her intention, but also not quite unpleasant.

His lips were soft, his kisses slow, pressing into her and coaxing her lips open until she was breathless, trembling, heat coiling low in her stomach. One palm firmly against the small of her back, he pushed her backwards and she arched, panting for breath and staring at the ceiling, as he kissed and sucked at the tender skin over her pulse.

“Is this why you wanted to come along?” she managed, not sure if she was more annoyed or more pleased at the thought.

“One of the reasons,” he agreed, opening her coat. God, she had more than enough evidence of his strength in every single day that they worked together, but it still was surreal that he was propping up the majority of her weight against one arm, holding her like it was nothing.

When his mouth came down against her breast, wet and hot breath intense even through the fabric of her half-corset, it took all of her control to clamp her mouth down and stay quiet. When his teeth grazed lightly against her hardened nipple, she moved instinctively, shifting her hips in a grinding motion against him; he responded by twining his fingers in her braids and making a rumbling noise in the back of his throat, the one that always made her whole body ache, almost dizzy with wanting. Before she could properly think about it, she found the words pushing out in a voice that she barely recognised as her own, ragged and broken; “do you- do you have a sheath with you--”

He immediately became immobile, eyes flying open as she twisted to try and look down at him. “What- we- no? I mean,” he stuttered, “if I did- if we- you would- here--”

Somewhere in his babbling, he shifted and his movement pushed the drapes back a little, allowing Evie to see that Professor Byng’s doorway was now clear. It snapped her back to the present with jarring force, reminding her why they were there in a first place- as well as where there was, a vastly inappropriate location for this sort of behaviour.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sugges- uh, that is, we aren’t going to find out today,” she said, wriggling back off him and onto the opposite bench, patting him on the shoulder and trying to steady her hammering heart. Good lord, hopefully the fresh air would clear her spinning head, how could she forget herself like that? She fumbled with the buttons of her coat and blouse, quickly snapping them back together and rearranging her scarf. “Come on, we can go now.”

She clicked the door open and hopped out. When she got a few steps away, she realised that Jacob wasn’t following her; there was a thump from the inside of the carriage, followed by a stream of barely-muffled curses.

“Jacob?” she called out from the other side of the door.

“I’m going to need a moment, please,” came the strangled reply.

She waited. Eventually, he emerged, unfolding himself from the small door. He stood and adjusted his collar and jacket, clearing his throat and jamming his hat on his head with a little more force than was probably strictly necessary.

“Composed again?” she asked.

He shot her a filthy look. “No thanks to you.”

She shook her head at the sky. As if he had anyone to blame but himself.

\---

With access to the house and the distraught maid and son, it wasn't long before they were driving the carriage to the university, and then to the local graveyard, trying to follow the traces of evidence to Professor Byng’s killer.

Jacob wanted to just beat the answer out of all involved. Simpler, he explained, when Evie snorted at him. He just grumped when she reminded him that they were trying, in their own way, to now work within the confines of the law.

Given this, she couldn’t help but find it ironic when the answer became obvious not from muscle but from words- in the books of Professor Byrd’s successor, as paragraph after paragraph explained that remote tribes believed that eating another’s brains bestowed their gifts.

“Bloody useful, that,” Jacob said.

“But disgusting,” she countered.

“But useful.”

“But disgusting.”

When they confronted the mad professor, he crumbled like French pastry. Jacob waited with him while Evie fetched the police, hoping that she could come back with someone other than the two knobheads that they’d dealt with before.

Artie seemed to be delighted by the outcome. “That Professor Silas was particularly cunning.”

Watching the man be led away by the police, Artie babbling back and forth with Mr. Raymond, Jacob turned to Evie with a confused look. “I’m not sure that cunning is the word for it.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine going to all that trouble to be a world-eminent _anthropologist_?”

\---

They found their train still docked in Whitechapel station, preparing to return to the depot for the night. The heavy smell of rain hung in the air, threatening a torrential downpour overnight. Evie mostly wanted to curl up with a hot cup of tea and the satisfaction of a job well done.

When they reached the door, Evie held it open and gestured for Jacob to go ahead. “Now you’ve helped one of my strays,” she said, climbing in after him. “Was that so terrible?”

“Not so terrible,” Jacob admitted with a smile. “Supremely weird, yes, but not so terrible. And now I’ve done my good deed for the year.”

“Would that be the good deed of avenging a man’s wrongful death, bringing a man to justice, finding solace for a grieving son…?”

He grinned a full, glowing smile, and her heart skipped a beat. “I was thinking of the good deed of helping you, actually. It doesn’t come easily.”

“Such a martyr.”

“No one knows what I endure,” he said seriously.

He followed and watched as she got ready for bed, settling himself into her chair as she wriggled into her nightdress, undoing her braids and running a brush through the strands. She had been a bit unnerved the first time he did this, not sure what to make of the way that he just sat and stared without saying anything. When she asked about it, he just shrugged. After enough times, she put it down to eccentricity.

They shared a quiet cup of tea. Her eyelids were starting to feel heavy when he spoke. “Why do you help all of them?”

She sipped at the last of her tea, hot and scalding, enjoying the feeling as it slipped down to her stomach. “It’s the right thing to do,” she finally said, feeling that it was enough of an explanation. Because at the root of it, that was what it came down to; she had gifts, and there were things in her capacity to give that weren’t shared by many others. Of course she should help.

Jacob snorted a little before nodding, the movement slow. Moments later, he stood and stretched, taking her teacup. “I’m off, then.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, ruffling her carefully brushed hair and laughing when she squawked in irritation.

He was almost at the door when he half-turned back towards her. "Hey,” he said casually, tossing the words out. “I love you."

She paused from combing her fingers through her hair and tilted her head at him, smiling. "Of course you do."

He frowned. "No, I mean-- I love you, love you."

"My God, what poetry."

He started to squirm a little, like this wasn't quite going the way he had planned. "I'm not very good at- I don't know, sun and my stars and all that shit." His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I've just always thought about you a lot, and at some point, it kind of became-- I don't know, more, and, I don't know," his face was beginning to turn red, the colour crawling around his ears. "I want you to know that."

She savoured the words, not sure if she wanted him to be able to see how much they affected her. It still felt so strange to be playing with the boundaries of this relationship. Maybe it would always be strange. Maybe that was inevitable.

He certainly looked like he was expecting much more of a reaction, and he tapped his fingers on his thigh, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I know it's fucked up, but, hey, I've never let it bother me much.”

"Jacob, what do you want me to say? That I'm shocked? Appalled?"

"It’s a little strange, there’s no getting around that.”

“Yes.” She inclined her head in agreement. “It’s a little strange.”

He nodded, as though that were more along the lines of what he had been expecting. "Well, it doesn’t matter to me.”

"I’m glad."

Jacob’s chest puffed out at her words, his shoulders squared with pleasure. “Good. So-- so yeah. I love you, Evie. Have done for a long time. Since, uh," and he was back to being awkward again, hesitating with each word, "since before we came to London."

She smiled at him, enjoying the fidgeting fingers, the way that he couldn’t quite meet her gaze. Amorous energy apparently exhausted, he turned again to leave, steps a little more rigid than usual. As he got to the door, she called out after him, closing her eyes. "Jacob?"

"Yes?"

"You never need to say it out loud for me to know.”

He grunted.

“But, so there are no misunderstandings between us-- I love you too. Love, love you.”

And there was that grin again, full and beautiful, big enough to light up her whole sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 90% of my writing process is thinking about [**this screencap.**](http://poethrotsvitha.tumblr.com/post/148153497810)


	2. Training Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob used to think sparring was boring.
> 
> RATING: Explicit. Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Rough Sex, Oral Sex

“That's two for me,” Jacob said through a grin, his knee firmly planted on the small of Evie’s back. Pinned to the floor, she craned over her shoulder to shoot him a look that could have dropped a bird from the air mid-flight.

Her anger wasn't entirely unreasonable; it wasn't a completely fair fight. Boxing really played more to his strengths than to hers. Even so, he could tell that his winning irritated her, and the childish part of him relished it. She won so often in every other way that it made the reverse a treat.

“Yes, fine, I yield,” Evie muttered from the ground. “Now let me up, please. We’ll go again.”

They stood and stretched. In the daytime, this warehouse was full of loitering and training Rooks. It was empty now, in the dead of night, and they had retreated to an abandoned side office lit by a few flickering lamps. A perfect place for some sparring. She’d shed all of the usual armour for her shirt and trousers, and it was the best part of the evening as far as Jacob was concerned. Mostly because the trousers made her ass look spectacular.

Limber again, Evie leaned into a relaxed crouch in front of him, taped fists tense at her sides. “Ready.”

He straightened his shoulders and beckoned her with a finger.

Evie leapt at him directly, her face focused, her fist aiming for his head. As he sidestepped the blow, her legs twisted smoothly, lashing out to catch his knees; he swung his arm out towards her shoulders and forced her to stumble backwards, out of reach.

Jacob rocked back on his heels and braced for another attack, the heady buzz of adrenaline rattling through his veins. She was still trying to fight him head-on, and it was never going to work. “You've got to think _creatively_ , remember?”

His words hung in the air and her stance changed, eyes glittering in the dim light. “Fine,” she said. “I'll be creative.”

There was no time to think about the undertone before Evie was lunging. When he shot an arm out to block her, she feinted and slipped underneath it, circling behind him in a flash. Instead of darting out of range as she normally would, she pressed up against him, coarse fabric of her shirt against his back, her arms snaking around his bare chest.

“Wha-” he managed before Evie’s fingers slid down and traced his stomach, dipping underneath his belt and skating along his hip bones.

Jacob’s brain fuzzed out as his cock suddenly twitched in interest, and in that moment of hesitation, his knees hit the ground with a _crack_ and Evie wrapped him in a brutal headlock.

“I yield,” he choked out, his vision starting to go black around the edges.

Evie stepped back and he wheezed, coughing, before he shot her a baleful look. “That's cheating.” Brilliant, alluring-as-fuck cheating.

She shrugged, graceful and dismissive. “I don't know what you're talking about.” There was a hidden flicker of a smile, the kind that made Jacob’s heart pound in his chest. She’d be the death of him.   

He rubbed his neck and stood. “Let's go again, shall we?”

She managed to land one solid kick before he tackled her outright, shoving her backwards against the wall. Once there, it was child's play to pin her arms above her head, pushing his knee between her legs and kicking them apart, pressing his thigh against her to hold her like that. Jacob wished that he could let his hands roam, slide under her shirt and explore the soft skin there, but he was fairly certain that she wouldn’t hesitate to break his nose if he let go. It made him want her even more, somehow. That was probably fucked up, but what about this wasn't?

Evie practically hissed underneath him, an angry cat in her distress. “You're an _ass_ ,” she snarled, but he saw the way that her hips ground up against him, her pupils dilating, cheeks turning pink underneath her freckles.

He dipped his lips to Evie’s shoulder. “Don't know what you're talking about.” He sucked and nipped at the smooth skin, usually covered by her coat, trying to leave a mark - he knew it annoyed her, with the risk of it being seen.

She let out a hushed moan, so quiet that he almost missed it, and just like that, he was hard again. He tightened his grip on her wrists and she arched slightly in response, twisting under him, her breath coming out in pants.

God, he still couldn’t believe that this was happening. It had been weeks, months of having her all to himself, every last beautiful inch of her, and it still felt like a dream. It didn’t help that there had been years of dreams like this before, back when he didn't dare to think that she might want the same very, _very_ wrong things.

But she did. There was a swell of satisfaction and primal ownership whenever he thought about it; Evie wanted _him_ , only him, and he had all of her. And when it came down to it, she wasn't the only one who could tease. He let go of her and stepped away, leaving her dishevelled and panting against the wall.

“Next round?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage, ignoring the tent in his trousers.

Eyes locked on his, she slowly ran her tongue against her upper lip, and Jacob felt his mouth go dry. “All right,” she said, flexing her fingers. “I'm ready.”

This time she waited for him to strike first, ducking underneath every blow. The rules of the fight had changed, and she had given up on trying to hit him or best him outright. Instead she flitted in and out, landing light touches, teasing flutters, delicate caresses that pulled away before they could satisfy. It was maddening. He could feel his attention slipping, his movements becoming more erratic, his breathing more laboured. Damn her, she was good at this.

“What's wrong, Jacob?” Evie’s smile was wicked. “Can't you focus?”

He aimed another blow and she skipped sideways, her fingers sliding along his hip. A light sheen of sweat had developed against the curve of her neck, proof of almost an hour’s exercise, and Jacob felt an irrational desire to hold her still and run his tongue along it.

In that second’s distraction, Evie lunged, kicking his feet out sideways from underneath him. As he fell, his brain kicked in and he remembered that he knew the next part of this move, trained into both of them by Father: _grab the closest arm and twist it behind the back_.

When she reached for his arm, he took her by surprise, gripping her instead and yanking her down with him. She yelped as she lost her balance and he rolled over on top of her, holding her down with the weight of his body. “That’s the tables turned, eh? ‘S what happens when you spar too much with one person: they know all your moves.”

Christ, Father would be _so_ appalled if he knew they were misusing their training this way.

He expected her to roll her eyes or fight back. Instead, she tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him down to push her lips against his own. This is good, Jacob thought foggily, opening his mouth as Evie's tongue slid against his own, demanding and desperate. He could deal with this.

Evie’s wriggling intensified underneath him until she was able to spread her legs, and then she was rolling her hips against his, making him groan into her mouth. It wasn’t nearly as close as he wanted to be, as close as he now knew she was willing to let him be. He ground back instinctively, letting the friction build. When she pushed against him and rolled him over, he followed the motion, gripping her hips as she straddled him.

For a brief second, mind buzzing with sex and violence, he was worried that she would take the chance to make the killing blow. But Evie was more preoccupied with running her fingers down his chest, kissing every inch of his face, pulling at his belt buckle.

“Who’s winning now?” she asked breathlessly, a smile in her voice.

He tugged at the bottom of her shirt, freeing it from her trousers and lifting it off her body. “Don't know,” he muttered, nearly feeling the seams of her undershirt and half-corset give way his haste. “Don't care.”

His chest tensed in in anticipation as he took in the swell of her breasts, the tight and pert nipples, already hard, the flat planes of her stomach. There were fading bruises on parts of her ribs and he made a mental note to find whoever had put them there and kill them- that was, of course, if she hadn’t already. Pushing up and leaning on his elbows, Jacob pressed his mouth to her breast, tasting the hard bud and rasping it lightly between his teeth, feeling her squirming become more pronounced on top of him. She smelled so good, the sharp tang of her arousal joining the more familiar soap and sweat and leather polish, the essence of Evie that lived on her skin.

She abruptly pulled away, leaving him shivering. Jacob was about to complain when he realized that she was slithering down his front, tugging his boots off, pulling his trousers and pants away, stripping him down until there was nothing left, and the protests dried up in his throat. Evie’s lips were bruised from his kisses and the colour was high in her cheeks. Watching her pull his cock loose was like being the best sort of drunk.

“Christ,” he moaned, a little lightheaded, trying to keep his eyes on her as she wrapped her lips around him, clever hands moving up and down with her movements. Evie’s mouth was hot and wet, and the view of her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she pleasured him was enough to make his head spin as his cock throbbed. She hummed at him and the sensation sent an electric thrill through his body, his elbows chafing as he twitched and scraped against the floor.

Too much of that and it would be over before the main event. He wound his fingers in her braids and tugged lightly until she crawled up, pulling her close for an open-mouthed kiss, possessive and hungry. They fumbled with her belt and the laces of her boots, peeling her trousers off, letting it all join the rest of the discarded things in a crumpled pile.

She shivered a little and climbed into his lap, wrapping her bare legs around his waist, fingers lazily tracing the scruff on his face. “So this is where creativity gets us.”

He wondered if he would ever stop being entranced by the curve of her waist, the soft expanse of her skin, the spray of freckles that covered the tops of her shoulders. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“Your suggestions always seem to wind up with us like this.” She leaned in and nipped at his bottom lip while Jacob scoffed, tightening his hands on her.

“ _Excuse_ me, I don’t see you complaining.”

Evie laughed. “You wouldn't happen to have a skin on you, would you?”

He reached out towards his trousers, scrabbling until he pulled out the small paper packet. “Always have it on me since the carriage incident. Which, by the way, was completely your fault.”

She grinned at him wickedly and he grinned back, letting his fingers trail down to the dark thatch of curls between her legs, looking for the now-familiar little bundle of nerves. Her laughter trailed off into choked sounds as he found it, rubbing in small circles until she was keening against him, her face buried in his shoulder, her nails digging into his back.

Jacob repositioned his hand and used his thumb to keep rubbing, gently sliding one finger inside her slick folds, swallowing a little when he found her pliant and ready. She arched happily, letting out a small and breathy moan, bucking against his hand, bumping against his shaft as she moved mindlessly. Fuck, he was a lucky man.

“More,” she whispered, and he obeyed, adding another finger to the knuckle and curving them until she was shaking against him, her gasps a staccato of pleasure. It was divine to see her come undone, more and more of her hair falling loose from their tight braids, her eyes hazy and unseeing from focusing only on the feeling in her hips.

Before he felt her reach her peak, she was suddenly pushing against him, pulling herself away. “Now. I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” He hesitated. “you haven’t-”

“Damn it, Jacob, I don’t want to wait any more, I want you inside _now_.”

Like he was ever going to need more encouragement than that. It took a few moments of fumbling to pull the skin on, but the seconds felt like an eternity.

Evie rolled onto her back and pulled him down on top of her, whispering incoherent pleading noises that set his mind aflame. It was a moment’s work for Jacob to line their hips up together, run his hands along her legs as she twined them around his waist, lean in in for a deep kiss, and push into her.

It was bliss, tight and wet and hot as sin, her legs and arms clinging around him, her soft breasts pressed against his chest, her moans shameless against his ear. Jacob wanted to try and start gently, slowly, easing her into it, to take his time and explore the sensation. But she bucked up against him insistently, mewling and pleading, and damn it all, he never _could_ find it in him to say no when Evie asked nicely.

So he sped up, driving his hips down to meet hers, finding no resistance as she stretched to accommodate him. She moved back just as fiercely, matching his speed, her breath hitching higher and higher as the last of his control fell away. Her eyes were big and dark as she pulled him in for another kiss, their bodies joined in two places as Jacob felt himself sink into her over and over, the perfect other half that he had desired for so many years, here and beautiful and all _his, all his, all his allhis-_  

She broke the kiss to arch her back, keening, and he snapped back to the present and lowered his lips to the hollow of her throat. “Evie,” he groaned, sliding a hand down between them to try and coax pleasure out of her again, his skin burning where their bodies touched. He wanted her to have that rush before he finished, and even though his control was improving with practice, he knew he couldn’t stave it off forever, not with the filthy sound of their coupling filling the room, not with the way she clenched around him desperately, willing and wanton.

“Yes,” she breathed, “Jacob, _yes_ ,” her fingers trembling on the back of his neck, her sounds becoming more pitched as he massaged that small nub. She shuddered, and he was possessed by the urge to make her shudder again, and again, and again, against his skin and at his mercy. He rolled his hips, trying to match that with an angle she liked, and he knew he had succeeded when Evie let out a hoarse sob, tensing and straining, her nails nearly drawing blood against his skin.

"Shh,” he coaxed, whispering in her ear. “Let it happen, love. Let it happen.” And with a glorious and ragged cry, she unraveled in his arms, letting him see her at her most vulnerable state, keening his name as she came for him, his brave and beautiful Evie.

She clung to him like a life raft on the open sea as he let go of the last of his control, fucking her into the floor, her feet digging into his back and the sharp bite of her teeth on his shoulder. He loved being marked by her, the small emblem of ownership, evidence of her that he carried around on his skin for days. He knew he was lost seconds before it happened; “ _Evie_ ,” he choked, caging her in with his body, tucking his head into the crook of her shoulder, losing himself in the incredible sensation of spilling into her. It seemed to go on forever, the two of them one being, her voice crooning in Jacob’s ear and her hands caressing his face as he shuddered.

In the aftermath of the rolling and blissful haze, his mind a happy and empty place, he felt Evie push him onto his back, tracing his chest until she slid her fingers up and placed them on his throat.

“Do you yield?” she said quietly, pressing until Jacob felt his breathing become lightly restricted.

He groaned at her limply. “You have got to be joking.”

She just pressed down a little harder, making him rasp, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that Evie’s full lips were curved into a smirk. “Do. You. Yield?”

As if he could do anything else. “Yes. Yes, fine. I yield.”

She flopped back onto his chest with a happy sigh. “I knew you would.”

He wound an arm around her waist with a dark chuckle. “You're infuriating sometimes, sister _dearest.”_

“You like it, brother mine.”

And, damn it all, she was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm going to hell. 
> 
> And yes, I am aware that Victorian condoms were more inconvenient than portrayed here and numbed sensation a lot more than their modern counterparts. But this is _my ___smut about two super-assassin siblings having oh-so-wrong sex, dammit, and I'll bend the truth where I want.


	3. Shoulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has a thing for Jacob's shoulders.
> 
> RATING: Explicit. Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Mild Exhibitionism, Dirty Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ungarn Moc for your encouragement and suggestions!

She had always liked his broad shoulders.

They were perfect for leaning against when they sat side by side, in front of the fire, tired at the end of the day. Because of their matching heights, she could rest her chin on them when he pulled her in for a hug.

Before, it simply meant that there was no awkward face-smooshing into his chest. Later, it meant that it was easy for her to turn her head sideways and press kisses to his stubbly cheek. Which, as she discovered, he was rather fond of.

The shoulders were usually tucked away under layers of clothing, coats and vests and shirts. That was distracting enough, frankly, though she could hardly explain why; the pleasing symmetry of it with the curve of his back or the lines of his arms left a whole silhouette that was worth staring at.

Watching him box was a whole different experience.

Which is why she had ended up here, on the edge of the ring. Shouting men jostled her left and right. Her focus was entirely on what was in front of her: Jacob, taking on six men at once.

One after another, they fell under his fist, but she was barely paying attention to the fighting. Instead she was watching the muscles roll along his back, his arms flexing, those delicious shoulders shifting as he moved. Where she preferred precision, Jacob tended to use excessive force, extending unnecessary movement as he fought. She didn’t mind. In this case.

It helped, of course, that he seemed to be able to pull on almost limitless reserves of energy. She couldn’t help but think of- of, well,  _other_ places where he put that energy to use. 

Eyes closed, she drew in a slow breath, thighs squeezing together.

An abrupt roar let her know that the fight was over. Jacob was in the middle, of course, fist raised in the air. His eyes roved over the crowd until they found hers; her heartbeat accelerated a little under the suggestion in his gaze. 

He jogged to the edge of the ring and quickly slipped out of it, pressing well-wishers aside. When he reached for her, it was to grip her arm tightly and lean in close to her ear. “Sisters don’t look at brothers like that.”

She let out a little hum. “This one does.”

He gathered his things with eager hands and tugged his coat on. They left into the mist of the night, rappelling up to the roof to get their bearings. Evie was about to set out towards the train when he grabbed her, pulling her flush against him and sliding his hands down to her hips. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to the train?” The train with doors, locks, and curtains.

“I think here is just fine.”

“Here?” She wanted it to sound exasperated, but instead it came out as a squeak.

With a curve of his wrist, he had his hands past the waistband of her trousers, kneading her behind. “Not a lot of other people on the roof, last time I checked.”

“Windows?” It came out as a squeak again.

“Have you looked at the fog? There could be other people on the roof and we’d never know.” He slid one of his hands around to her front and his dark chuckle made a shiver roll down her spine. “Wow, you _were_ enjoying watching that fight.”

She could feel the dampness that he’d found. Oh, mercy.

He was just tracing, stroking, grinning at her when her hips twitched in response. “Well,” he said, finally withdrawing his hand with a regretful sigh. “Back to the train, then. Between finding it and getting there, it could be an hour.” There was just the shadow of a grin when he gave her his best puppy dog eyes.

Cocky bastard. She ought to agree, to start moving. She willed her legs to start, but she was locked in place, heart thundering, staring at him.

“Go ahead, Evie,” he gestured, the grin getting wider.

Damn his persuasiveness.

His coat was the easiest thing to grab, dragging him close so quickly that he stumbled a little, boots crunching against the tiles. She tangled a hand in his hair and pressed her lips against his, pulling his other arm against her to try and push it down her trousers again.

He hummed into her mouth and obeyed, quickly finding that spot that made her dissolve, fingers twisting deliciously despite the awkward angle. Drawing back, she could see that he almost looked a little punch drunk by the kiss. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, clearly pleased with himself.

“This is mad,” she muttered, mostly to herself. He stepped away for a moment to pull his coat back off and toss it on the slant of the roof, and then she was back to staring at those ridiculously broad shoulders.

Turning, he gently lowered her down onto his coat and began opening the buttons of her vest and shirt.

“This _is_ why you came out to see me, though.” He pressed kisses down her chest, tugging the fabric aside until he could latch onto a pebbling nipple, running his tongue along it as she gasped. Pulling away with a pop, his fingers began to tug along her waistband again, tugging her trousers down. “I know that look.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to think clearly. “I enjoy watching you fight.”

“Really?” She could almost see his pride swelling. “Like watching me take bastards down?”

That was part of it. “That and, uh…” She was distracted by his fingers, which were tracing her slit again. “Uh…”

“Yes?” If only he wouldn’t sound so amused.

“Uh…”

“I plan to keep doing this until you finish your sentence. In case you were wondering."

Evie shook her head like there was water in her ears, gathering her thoughts. “I like seeing you shirtless.”

She was rewarded with a quick thrust and a twist of his fingers that made her keen. Another hand snapped over her mouth. “I’m flattered, but the fog is blocking everyone’s sight- not their hearing. Don’t forget.”

“Right,” she gasped, writhing underneath him. “Sorry-”

“So, shirtless,” he continued, conversationally. “That’s worth travelling an hour on a foggy cold night to seduce me?”

“I didn’t-”

“Love, that look you were giving me could’ve seduced any man from a mile away.”

He added another finger and she arched, the fullness painful and wonderful all at once. “Jacob--”

His smile was almost lazy; it would’ve been if it wasn’t for the eyes, devouring her little movements.

When he pulled his hand away, the emptiness was aching. She was about to complain until he pushed her knees up against her chest and brought his face lower, kissing the bottom of her thighs. “You were saying about shirtlessness?”

“You have nice shoulders,” she blurted, “and arms.”

There was a moment’s confused pause. “Not sure that I understand, that’s not exactly what I see when I’m looking at you.” She could almost see his shrug. “But I’ll take it.” He pressed a sudden hot kiss to her wetness and she bit her lip so hard that she nearly drew blood. 

It was torture to stay completely quiet. She didn’t succeed, in any case, little mewls forced out by the swipe and swirl of his tongue. His fingers dug into her backside and practically lifted her slightly off the ground, trying to get easier access. It went on and on- that boundless energy, it was unbelievable- until she broke, the pulsing rushing from her hips through her body, setting her nerve endings on fire. Her knees were still braced against her chest with her trousers down around her thighs, but she could’ve been flying as the pleasure coursed through her.

He pushed on top of her as she panted, and the click and rustle of his belt was obvious. She vaguely wanted to kiss him, but there was no way to do it without stopping him to reposition her legs. She definitely didn’t want him to stop.

The first thrust was awkward, a little bit rough as they tried to figure out a rhythm that worked on the uneven surface. It took moments for them to get the swing of it, each thrust pushing the air from her lungs as she writhed.

“Oh my god,” he grunted, giving a thrust so hard that her back slid against the tiles. “Jesus, Evie. I don’t think I’ve ever felt you this wet- are you actually enjoying being outside?”

“Shut- up-” she huffed, fruitlessly trying to find a firm place to brace against him.

“Is this something you’ve wanted?”

The snap of his hips was distracting her from his words. “What?”

“To be fucked out in the open?”

Open-mouthed, she tried to ignore the sudden electric rush of heat that rushed through her. “What? No!”

“Oh my god, it is.” Her body was betraying her and he was reading it like a book. “You _like_ this.”

She didn’t know where to start. “Well, I mean, yes, but-”

“What is it that you want from this? To be caught?”

Another delirious thrill that made no sense. “No-”

“Want the whole world to see me buried inside you as you scream for me?”

“No,” she said, but it came out as a breathy whimper.

“I like it,” he whispered, winding a hand in her braids and forcing her to look at him. “I want everyone to see. I want to invite the Rooks and the brotherhood and Greenie and the whole fucking city to know you're mine.”

It was all she could do to pant at him, momentarily so entranced at the idea that her whole body clenched, heartbeat pounding in her ears.

The amusement was gone from his face now, replaced with a feral sort of wonder. “Maybe I'll do that, then. Let them watch as you come for me. As you take every fucking inch of me. Every man in London would be jealous, you know that?”

His pace was still somehow getting faster, stroking that sweet spot over and over until she felt a second release sneak up on her, dissolving her bones in a burst of sparks that were like a hammer striking iron. Jacob suddenly gasped and tensed, fingers tightening on her arms, a strangled noise gritted out through his teeth as he shuddered, hips bucking erratically. “Oh fuck, _fuck_ , Evie--”

At the last moment, he withdrew, spending on the tiles as he gasped. With some effort, he scrabbled up beside her, propping his chin up on one hand. “So.”

“Hmm?” she said, languid, boneless.

"Evie Frye, voyeur.”

“Hush,” she managed, the sound more a sigh.

He reached out and rolled her over onto his hips, her trousers awkwardly pushed back up as she straddled him. She pushed her hands onto his shoulders and made another humming noise, tracing her fingers along his muscles.

He craned his neck sideways to follow the flow of her fingers. “You really like that, do you?”

She did. “I might.”

The smile slid off his face and he lifted a hand to her cheek. “I really do wish I could, you know.”

“Could do what?”

“Let everyone know that you're mine.” His fingers settled on her lips. “I mean, maybe I wouldn't use that method.” The trace of a smile came back briefly. “But I wish they all could know. That I’m yours.”

She placed a hand on his cheek and leaned in for a kiss. “I wish it too.” It was the real secret; how much she wanted easy fondness and kisses and togetherness. To claim each other. To have a future.

The cold was starting to seep into her skin now that they were still, and her thoughts were interrupted by a little shiver.

He saw. “Let’s get to some warmth.” Shuffling to his feet and doing up his belt, he held a hand out towards her. She got to her feet and awkwardly fixed her clothing, rearranging her scarf and pocket watch. He pulled his crumpled coat over his shoulders, shooting her a quick grin and flexing his arms for her while she rolled her eyes with a smile.

They started out back towards the train. As they walked, he reached out and tucked her hand firmly in his.

Instinctively, feeling the pressure of the public gaze, she tried to withdraw.

But he just gripped tighter, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Fog, remember? We can, just now. Relax.”

A slow grin growing across her face, Evie twined her fingers in his, following as they set out into the night.


	4. The Unspoken Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some basic rules to follow when you join the Rooks. 
> 
> RATING: General. Tags: drabble, OC POV, jealousy

There were formal rules in the Rooks, even if there weren't many. Don’t steal from the gang. No fighting amongst members. Never endanger children. You broke those at your peril.

But then there were the unspoken rules, things that were never stated but followed religiously nonetheless.

Danny had learned them fairly quickly. When new folks joined, he made it his business to pass them along.

The first one was simple: after hours, the Black Swan was the place to be. Drink was the cheapest there. The crowds of Rooks that descended on the place made for good company. The Boss could usually be found there, and if he wasn’t, he generally had been by recently enough that someone could direct you to where he was.

The Black Swan was where decisions were made about the second unspoken rule: never travel alone. The Blighters were dangerous enough that it was stupid to head out without backup. Of course, not everyone was as easy to be paired up with, so it usually came down to drawing straws.

Which was how Danny had drawn the short straw with Lawrence. Lawrence, who came from a wealthy background, who had no sense of the difficulties of living in Whitechapel and was mostly a part of the Rooks for the thrill. Lawrence, who could get out of any trouble with a request to his Father in parliament. Lawrence, who was too damned good looking for his own good and quite used to getting his way.

Lawrence, who seemed hell-bent on breaking the third unspoken rule.

It was enough to make Danny’s stomach drop whenever Miss Frye walked into the Black Swan. She wasn't there nearly as often as the Boss was, but it happened enough that it was becoming a problem.

Lawrence would saunter over, pleased with himself as always. There would be a moment when he would give her what he obviously thought was his most charming grin, and usually offer to buy her a drink. He would stand there in the face of her bemused-and-slightly-impatient smile and do his best to win her over. And somehow, he would still return with that inflated sense of confidence.

This time, he wandered back to Danny and the bar with a goofy grin. “She said I could visit her on the train if I liked.”

That seemed extremely unlikely. Miss Frye was unrelentingly polite, but not exactly welcoming. “Really?”

“Well, I asked if I could, and she said she's rarely there. But that's not a ‘no’, right?”

Sigh. “That sounds like a no to me, mate.”

"Danny, please. Women say no when they mean yes, it's a common enough thing.”

“Look, I've warned you lots of times that this usually don't end well-”

“Yes, and I've told you not to worry.”

Well, if the idiot was hell-bent on committing suicide, Danny couldn't stop him. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to.

\---

Things came to a head after one particularly successful gang war. There was dancing in the Black Swan, with the Rooks covering the cost of the celebration. Miss Frye was laughing and swinging back and forth with that short American fellow- Wycliffe or something- when Lawrence tried to cut in.

She looked offended for a moment before she somewhat gracefully recovered, accepting his hand with a tight-lipped nod.

Danny watched as they did a sort of improvised waltz, Evie leaning away while Lawrence leaned in. Danny was taking another swig of his beer and hoping to God that he got a new partner soon when the Boss suddenly materialized at his elbow. “Danny, right?”

Danny sputtered as he coughed into his beer, straightening when he recovered. The Boss knew him by name? “Yes uh, that's right.”

“Can you do me a favour?”

Danny would die for the Boss. He's pretty sure most of the Rooks would. “Just point the way.”

“When this is done,” he gestured with his beer towards the dancing Lawrence and Evie, “can you get him out in the alley?”

Danny looked back to the pair. Lawrence’s hand was sliding lower and lower. There was a sudden _crunch_ and the idiot was reeling backwards, Evie’s fist having connected firmly with his cheek. “Sure thing.”

“Right,” the Boss muttered, heading towards the back of the pub.

Lawrence was now staggering back to the bar as Miss Frye stomped out into the night. Inexplicably, he was still grinning. “You see that?”

The whole pub had seen it. “Yeah, and I warned you.”

Lawrence laughed. He'd clearly had a bit too much to drink. “Don't look so grim! It's all part of the game, ladies can't look too eager.”

“Righ’,” Danny muttered. “Let’s get you some fresh air, yeah? Take a breather.”

He looped Lawrence’s arm over his shoulder and they staggered out of the pub, plodding towards the alleyway.

“She’s a real pudding, that one,” Lawrence was slurring. “Not like a lot of the whores you see around here. Bet she's real something in bed though, the frigid ones always are--”

A wave of cold water came out of nowhere, drenching Lawrence and catching Danny a bit in the process. Lawrence jerked away and sputtered, swearing, wiping the water out of his eyes.

Danny could see the Boss, holding a bucket out in front of him. “All sobered up yet?”

“What the fuck,” Lawrence managed, “who the- oh. You.”

“Me,” the Boss agreed. There was a second of tense silence before he set the bucket down. “I'm sure you know what I'm going to ask.”

“Mate,” Lawrence said, clearly trying to keep the tone light, “it was just a bit of joking around, trust me, I go for something a bit more refined- _oof_.”

He crumpled to his knees as he was punched by the second Frye in one night, this time in the stomach. The Boss quickly grabbed a fistful of Lawrence’s hair, holding him up. “Did you know that our Father is dead?” Another punch, this one harder. “No guardians for us.”

The Boss' boot connected with Lawrence's groin and Lawrence yelled out in pain.

The Boss let go and stepped back, dusting his hands. “I like to think I'm the biggest thing standing between her and total ruin.” For a second, Danny could've sworn he saw a smile, like the Boss was laughing at a private joke. But it was gone in a moment.

“Anyway,” he continued, “consider this your resignation. If I ever see your sodding face on this side of the river again, I won't be so nice.”

Lawrence spat on the ground and rasped, the years of good breeding somehow propping up his wounded pride. “You can't just ban me from half of the city, you jumped up little shit- you or your slut of a siste--”

This time the punch knocked him backwards so hard that his head cracked into the wall. He slumped against the ground, unconscious.

The Boss cleared his throat. “Right. Thanks, Danny. Take this scum and toss him somewhere, would you? Dump him on a ship and let him wake up in Australia for all I care.”

“No problem,” Danny agreed, fighting to stay serious and not show his glee. Maybe he'd get a lovely young girl as a partner this time. Or a drinking buddy. Or just someone not so bloody insufferable.

He was most of the way through dragging Lawrence to a carriage when the Boss turned back and called out after him. “Oh, and Danny? Let's keep this between us, eh?” He took his hat off to run his hand through his hair, and he suddenly looked very young and a bit nervous. “Evie doesn't appreciate the implication that she can't look after herself.”

Danny gave a quick salute before he hopped on the perch of the carriage and took off.

\---

Lawrence came to somewhere around Southwark, just as Danny was shoving him out of the carriage and into a mound of horse shit. That was for the time he implied that Danny’s sister was a whore. Which- well, she was- but she had kids to feed and it wasn't any of his damned business.

“Danny?” Lawrence slurred.

“Tried to warn you.”

“What?”

“It's the third rule! You didn't really think you were the first to try, did you? It never ends well.”

Lawrence shook his head, looking confused and possibly like he might be sick from the smell. “What?”

Danny climbed up and took the reins once more. “It's practically a law, mate.” He gave Lawrence a cheery wave. “ _No one_ gets to flirt with Miss Frye!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surely some of the Rooks tried to get somewhere with Evie. Look at her!


	5. You Can Never Go Home, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an important anniversary, and Jacob and Evie face it together. 
> 
> RATING: Teen. Tags: pure fluff, kisses and cuddles, Jacob is introspective

The train rattled onwards towards Crawley. Jacob was dozing lightly as the scenery rolled by, fingers laced over his stomach. It was so easy to relax when lulled by the rocking movement; it was almost like being in a cradle, quiet and safe.

Not that it seemed to relax Evie. She was stiff as a board across from him, legs crossed, lips drawn in a tight line. She'd been tense all night, restless and wracked by bad dreams. It was hard to share a tiny bed with someone and not know when they didn't sleep.

There was no point in asking her what was wrong. He knew. He couldn't _not_ know. It was all to do with the calendar, to do with the day.

A year since Father had passed.

In the middle of the week and on an early afternoon, the train was basically empty. They had the little compartment to themselves; reaching up, he leaned over and drew the blind down over the window in the door. It gave them a measure of privacy.

When she shot him a small frown, he shifted over next to her. He slouched down and put an arm around her, encouraging her to lean in. With a soft sigh, she placed her head on his shoulder, her body sagging against his.

Five minutes later, when he craned his neck to look at her face, she was asleep.

\---

The grave was exactly where they'd left it. Which shouldn't, of course, have come as any kind of surprise; but for some reason, it still gave Jacob pause.

It was because things were so different in every other way, he decided. So much had changed in a year. It was strange that this was the same.

Evie had brought flowers all the way from London, some kind of white blossoms with lots of petals.

She set it down gingerly on the grave, stepping back respectfully.

For a moment, they were silent, wind rustling high above in the trees.

Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “Do you think he'd be proud of what we've done?”

Jacob stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I think he'd be proud of… Parts of it.”

There was just the hint of an eye roll when she looked at him. “I meant our work in London.”

“Oh, that. Yes. Yes, I think he would.”

“Of course he wouldn't be proud of- of the other things.”

It was hard to argue with that. “Does it still bother you?”

“Yes,” she said instantly, which made his stomach drop a little. He didn't like to think of her wrestling with guilt over- well, what they had. “It makes me feel a little relieved that he's dead and never had to find out, which is a horrible way to feel.”

He grimaced. “He definitely wouldn't have taken it well.”

To his surprise, Evie let out a little chuckle. “My God, can you imagine?”

“He would've chopped my prick off,” Jacob said fervently. “With one of that enormous collection of knives he used to keep. And then had me press ganged to the West Indies.”

Evie was giggling now. “I shouldn't be laughing.”

He grinned at her. “No, probably not. But you would've been fine- you were the angel, he would've assumed that I'd corrupted you somehow.”

Her smile slid a little. “I suspect I would've mostly had to deal with a lot of disappointment. And horror.” She bit her lip. “Which I suppose is the normal reaction.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, stepping beside her to take her hand. Pulling her head down, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “But it's what we are.”

They stood until the light began to change, and with an unspoken agreement, turned back to the house.

\---

He hadn't been enthusiastic about staying the night. The house wasn't exactly over-imbued with good memories, and there was no real reason for him to linger.

But she wanted to have some time in the library with Father’s old notes. So he stayed.

Jacob wandered the house as she studied, poking around in all the old familiar corners. He kept vaguely expecting Father to pop into the doorway like he used to. It made it a bit hard to relax.

He could've gone out, but they hadn't told George they were coming and he didn't want to risk running into one of the Brotherhood. He'd seen enough of Crawley for a lifetime anyway.

In the end, he settled for stoking a fire in the drawing room, propping up his feet and twiddling his thumbs.

A year of Father gone. In that year, he had done things that would've both made Father proud and absolutely incandescently enraged. There was a time when he would've felt reckless glee and a twinge of shame at Father’s undoubted disapproval. For a while, he had even missed their knock-down fights, the ones that ended with yelling and throwing things. Even if they had left him feeling resentful and bitter, it had been satisfying to have a real, physical thing to throw his anger against. Once Father was gone, only a ghost was left. He couldn't fight a ghost.

There was a click in the doorway and Evie padded in. He blinked for moment; she was in a nightdress and had her hair braided. “I didn't realize you packed anything.”

“I didn't,” she said, folding herself into the chair across from him. “All of our old things are still here, remember?”

That explained why it looked so familiar. “Right.” He stared at her, so lovely in the firelight, tendrils of hair falling loose around her face as she bent over her book.

It was nice to sit quietly, with no risk of interruption or chaos. It was a bit like being back when things were comfortable, before everything had gotten confused and jumbled in his head, her role as a woman and a sister battling it out while he cowered in the corner. Except that now, those two roles had neatly coalesced, and he was able to just relax in the presence of them both.

Confusing, yes. But no longer terrifying.

She eventually caught him staring. “Yes?”

“Do you think it's possible to just remember the best of Father?”

She closed her book slowly. “How do you mean?”

“I just… I don't know if there's any point in remembering everything he hated about me.”

“Oh, Jacob.” Her gaze softened and she rose, setting her book aside. Arms on his shoulders, she settled lightly into his lap. “He didn't hate you.”

He snorted. “Really?”

“Really.” Her fingers traced his face and she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “He was proud of you, in his own way. He would be proud of you. He was just a bit... rigid, that's all. And stubborn. Like you. Like me.”

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against the crook of her neck. “Right.”

“Is that what you've been thinking about in here? That he hated you? Come on, don't be ridiculous. Put out the fire, come to bed.”

That sounded promising.

He doused the fire with dirt and tamped it down, grinding his foot into the fireplace. When he jogged up the stairs, he faced a moment of confusion: which bedroom to go to?

Jacob checked his own. She wasn't there. Grabbing his old nightshirt- still in his dresser- he padded across the hall and found her in her old bed, already tucked under the covers.

He tugged his clothes off efficiently and grinned at her when she made an appreciative noise. “Nice view?”

“Always,” she murmured as he pulled his nightshirt over his head.

She blew out the candle as he shuffled under the covers, curling towards her. The moonlight was bright enough that he could still see her face, the curve of her cheek, the smattering of freckles.

She rolled onto her side. “You sat up with me here, do you remember? After he died?”

“Of course.”

“I was surprised.”

He remembered it as feeling as natural as anything. “Why?”

“You’d been so cold for so long.”

Ah, yes. He remembered that too, the agonizing process of self-denial and avoidance. “I didn’t like it.”

“I know,” she said, leaning her head against his chest. “I understand why you did it, now. If it was ever a necessary thing, I think I could do it too.”

The thought made his chest twist. He had to resist the urge to pull her close, to crush her in his arms. “I don’t want it to ever come to that.”

“Me neither.”

An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. He had forgotten how very quiet Crawley was when compared to the hustle and bustle of London, the way that things were actually still when night fell. It meant there was room to think. Sometimes too much room.

“Evie, do you think--”

There was a little rasping snuffle. She had fallen asleep on him again.

Sighing, he moved a little further down and tucked the blankets around her chin. It was reassuring that she was resting again, anyway. That conversation could wait.

\---

When he awoke, the bed was empty.

He staggered down the stairs, eyes still drowsy from sleep. His brain dimly registered that there was a noise coming from the kitchen, something discordant-

Was that _singing_?

And so it was, a warbled tune that could only be coming from one person. He peered around the doorway and found Evie trilling, spooning batter into a pan. She had coaxed the ancient cooker into action, soot smudged up her arms. When she turned a little to put the bowl aside, he saw that some of it was on her face.

Evie couldn’t carry a tune to save her life. Never had been able to.

And yet, for some reason, in that moment as he watched her swaying with her bare feet tapping along the floor, covered in flour and soot, singing something that he probably would’ve recognized if she had any skill whatsoever- his heart felt like it was squeezing so hard that it would burst.

She greeted him without turning around. “Morning, you- I thought I’d take advantage of actually having a kitchen.” With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a pancake from the pan to a plate onto the growing pile that he saw she had waiting. “The train is nice and all, but I miss this.”

It was like he was glued to the floor. It was just so perfect that he didn’t want to shatter the moment, wanted to try and freeze this simple scene so he could keep it forever. Something simple. Something uncomplicated. Something with just the two of them, away from everyone else, from prying eyes, from rushing and locked doors and constant secrecy.

When his feet did finally move, it was to take him to her so he could wrap her into a tight hug from behind, burying his nose in her hair.

Her singing trailed off and he could almost see her frown in his mind’s eye. “Jacob?”

“It smells great,” he mumbled, not sure if he knew how to put _that_ _feeling_ into words. He pressed a kiss to her neck. “Your singing is bloody terrible, though. My ears are bleeding.”

He got an elbow in the stomach for that. It was worth it.

The pancakes were delicious.

\---

When she retreated to the study for more reading, he decided to follow her, not sure of what else to do.

He’d retrieved some of Father’s cache of guns the previous day. They'd been hiding in the attic, newer models mixed in with the training pistols that he and Evie had grown up with. A few of them even still looked usable; he could take them back for the Rooks. So he sat on the windowsill of one of the big, open windows that lined the room, cleaning and scraping down the barrels, watching Evie as she kept her nose close to the page. She would occasionally pause to scribble something down, her fingers gradually becoming stained with ink.

He was about three guns in when she spoke up out of nowhere.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop smiling at me.”

Was he doing that? He must have been. “Why?”

“Because it's distracting.”

“Why would that be--”

“Because it makes me want to smile back.”

He snorted. “Would that be so bad?”

“It is when I'm trying to focus-“ she stabbed the page, “- on a Latin cleric complaining about an unauthorized relic.”

For a moment, he wanted to make a sarcastic comment about chasing magical artifacts, but that seemed hypocritical when he had recently actually seen one at work. “Dry stuff, then?”

“You have no idea.”

He stood and stretched. “I don't, thank God. And fine, if my charming presence is so distracting, I'll clear off.”

He heard her quietly mutter, “it wouldn't be if you'd stop mooning over me.”

“Excuse me? I don't _moon_ over anything.”

“I don't know what else to call that goofy look.”

Making a point of huffing audibly, he gathered up the guns. Nose in the air, he was about out the door when she spoke up again.

“I do think we can just remember the best of him.”

It took him a moment to place her comment, to remember last night’s conversation and his grim contemplation of Father and his own failings in front of the fire. “Yeah?”

Her gaze was determinedly still on the book in front of her. They'd never been too good at feelings. “He loved us, in his own way. I think we can just remember that. I think that's right.”

With a slow nod, he accepted it, appreciating the input from another person. She understood, as no one else could. She always did.

“And you know, even if he never could have understood what we- well, what's happened- even if he would've been appalled…”

She trailed off and he waited as she turned a page, gathering her thoughts.

“If I were someone else, a different woman, from a different place, I know he'd be proud of how you treat me.”

It would have to be enough. An uncomfortable lump had lodged in his throat and he coughed to try and clear it. “Well- proud of most of it, maybe.” He attempted a grin. “I don't think he'd be proud of that time in the--“

“Focusing!” she snapped, but he could hear the smile that she was trying to hide.

Shrugging, he turned and left the library, deciding to carry on with his task in his old room. Maybe he'd even left some brandy somewhere.

As he climbed the stairs, his steps felt lighter.

Perhaps he really could just remember the good.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a Part 2 still to come, but there will be a huge ratings bump- so I thought I would pause here for those who are just here for romance and cuteness.


	6. You Can Never Go Home, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 100% straight fluffy smut. 
> 
> RATING: Explicit. Tags: smut, fluff, girl on top

Jacob was perched on his bed and had mostly finished cleaning the guns when Evie found him a few hours later. “I have everything I need, I think." She looked pleased. "I've cleaned up- we can probably catch an evening train back to London.”

He felt a twinge of regret at the thought. It was nice here, with just the two of them, and no prying eyes- but she was right, of course. They were needed back in London.

And Crawley was boring as shit. He couldn't probably actually stand more than a few days of the place.

She stood in the centre of his room, hands on hips. “Now this brings back memories.” She gave him a wry smile. “I haven't been in here for a while.”

He set the guns aside slowly and cleaned his hands with a basin of water, raising his eyebrows at her. “Remind me what you used to do in here?”

Evie’s cheeks went pink. “You know very well.”

“Was it… checkers?”

She sighed and wandered over, standing over him. “No, Jacob, it wasn't checkers.”

Leaning back, he patted his knees, indicating that she should sit. “Solitaire?”

She settled down and wrapped her arms around his neck. “No, not solitaire.”

“You know me,” he said, turning his head so he could murmur into her jawline. “Never remember anything, especially when you're the one telling me.”

Evie made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a sigh.

“So, remind me with a demonstration?”

She went very still. Shit. Had he overstepped? He drew back a bit nervously, but he needn't have worried; the lidded eyes and slightly open lips that greeted him were familiar enough now that he knew what they meant.

When she pushed against his shoulders, he followed the motion, leaning back against his pillow so she could climb over him. “I suppose maybe just a quick reminder…”

His heart stuttered as she took her scarf off and tossed it on the floor, making quick work of her coat, blouse and corset. One arm braced beside his head, her other hand snaked down her front until it slid under the waistband of her trousers. She pressed a kiss to his chin. “Is this ringing any bells?”

“I think I remember now,” Jacob muttered, eyes glued to the fantastic view he was currently enjoying of her cleavage. “Better make sure, though.”

She hummed in the back of her throat and he watched in something like wonder as her breath hitched, face growing focused, her hips twitching as her hand moved in little practiced swirls. Gently, he tugged her trousers down- somewhere past her thighs, she huffed impatiently and stopped to kick them off, waiting and watching while he struggled out of his own clothes.

So many clothes, damn it, why did they wear so many clothes?

That done, she straddled him again with a smirk and pulled him in for a long kiss. When she drew away, they were both a little breathless. “Shall I continue my demonstration?”

“Please,” he said, more a growl than a word.

When she started again, he covered her hand with his own, following the motion. She let out a breathy moan when he moved it further down, tracing his finger along the wetness he found.

He was so hard that it was sort of starting to hurt. “Was this what you imagined?” he asked, voice quiet. When she didn't answer, he gripped her behind and tugged her upwards, giving him the leverage to gently slide one finger inside her, her body yielding and ready, a gasp bursting from her as he pushed. “Was this what you thought about?”

“This is better,” she managed, her breath hot on his neck. He took his free hand and ran it up her smooth skin, settling against her breast so he could provoke another perfect gasp with a tight pinch. She was now bucking against his hand, rocking back and forth on her knees, trying to encourage more friction. The movement was satisfying to watch- it triggered something primal in him, his woman begging for more. So he added his index finger inside her and she mewled, her hips swirling faster. “So- so much better.”

“How?” he prompted, matching the timing of his movements with her own.

She buried her face in the pillow next to his head in response. Too embarrassed, then. He couldn't have that.

Holding his hand still until she kicked her heels in frustration, letting out an angry noise, he repeated the question. “How?”

The sound she made was almost close to a sob. “I didn't- I couldn't- I couldn't think about you too clearly, I thought you didn't want me.”

He scoffed out loud, thinking of all the times he'd lain in this very bed, stroking himself, desperately wishing his hand was hers. “I did,” he said, resuming the movements with his hand and enjoying the staccato of gasps that she let out in response. “Wanted you so badly.”

He could feel her clenching, getting close to her release. He turned his head to press a kiss to her earlobe, using the same tone that he usually reserved for calming skittish horses. “Beautiful,” he crooned, “so beautiful.”

Her moans were building in pitch and he was suddenly seized by the urge to hear her, to hear all of it. “Face up,” he said urgently, “there's no one around. I want to hear it. Scream for me.”

Jerking up off the pillow, her eyes scrunched shut as she twisted over him, legs clenching tightly. “Ja- Jacob- _Jacob_ —“

The rest was wordless, a breathy and desperate wail as she trembled, the sound sweet music to his ears. When the tremors subsided, she pushed herself up and straddled him properly, pushing some sweat-soaked hair back from the edges of her face with a hazy smile; the movement brought them directly in contact and he groaned, bucking his hips upwards. He wanted- needed- her to touch him, and soon. It was beautiful to watch her come, but fuck, his cock ached.

He had expected more preamble. Maybe some teasing, that was usually her style. Instead, to his shock, she splayed her fingers on his chest and promptly angled her hips to take him in, quickly forcing herself all the way down with a low moan.

Jesus _Christ_ but that felt good. She rocked her body and his mind whited out for a moment, that first and long-awaited thrust so incredibly satisfying.

He gripped her thighs. “Couldn't wait, huh?” he managed, shooting her a grin. “All those years of pining so desperately for me-“

She cut him off with a kiss, tugging on his lower lip with her teeth until he moaned.

“Don't be an ass,” she commanded, pushing back up before she started to move in earnest.

It was slow and leisurely, her movements almost gentle, each push a thrill along his spine. They had all the time in the world here, with none of the usual hangers-on lingering about. No Rooks. No Agnes. No fucking hovering Greenie.

The light in the room caught on her hair, giving her something of a glow. Even with the scars and bruises, with so much creamy skin on display she was a vision, her breasts bouncing in an oddly satisfying way as she moved.

He traced a finger along one of the scars, a line under her breastbone that he'd accidentally given her when they were ten. He'd cried harder than she had, panicking that he'd managed to hurt her so badly.

She cocked her head at him. “What?”

He snapped his attention back to her face and raised his eyebrows. “Hm?”

“You're giving me a look.”

“No, I'm not.”

"Yes, you are. It's the goofy look again.”

Bizarrely, he felt his cheeks heat up. “I am not.”

“You are. What does it mean?”

It means I love you, he wanted to say, and I don't want you to ever leave me. It means that I think you're infuriating and brilliant and incredible. It means I can't believe you put up with everything I put you through.

Instead, he shrugged. “Just happy.”

The smile that she shot back told him that somehow, she saw straight through him. Which, stupidly, made him even happier.

Being with her was like a hot bath at the end of the day, scalding at first before it soothed away the aches and pains of the world.

She leaned down and gently bumped her nose to his own. “I'm happy too.”

Her leaning meant that her hips lifted slightly further into the air; he took advantage of the gap, pushing his fingers against her legs and setting a faster pace, chasing his own peak against the soft curves of her skin.

Winding her hands into his hair, she let out a strangled sound of pleasure, rocking against him to match his pace. It was not so different from wrestling- the motions translating easily as they grappled, their moans combining with their meeting skin in the silence of the room.

She pulled his face over to look at her. “Did you- think of me- like this?” she breathed between pants, her body jerking in sync with his movements.

“Oh God,” he managed, “you have no idea-”

“Tell me,” she insisted, her teeth briefly nipping at his chin.

He moved his hands down to the swell of her behind, pushing harder as she gasped over him. “Almost every fucking night, I would wish you would come in here-“ he arched his neck back and her lips settled on his throat, sucking into his skin in a way that he was sure would leave a mark, “that you'd climb onto me and let me fuck you-“

She lifted her head just a fraction, her breath cool on his new bruise. “And now you are.”

It was enough to send another bolt of arousal through him; how many men got to enact out their frantic late-night fantasies?

“And I love it,” she breathed, sounding dreamy.

Well, fuck, if that wasn't incredible. It pushed him right to the edge and he gritted his teeth and grunted, feeling his impending release building as he pumped, her body tight and warm and slick.

Tensing as she felt his shift, Evie frantically drummed her hands his shoulders. “Jacob- no, you can't, no sheath!”

Biting down furiously on his lip, he let out a stifled moan of frustration. With a Herculean amount of self-control and against all of his screaming instincts, he pulled out of her, gasping at the release of contact. Thankfully, she immediately reached down to coax him the rest of the way; with a few quick pumps, he lurched with a gasp, the racing pleasure of it ripping through him as he spent into her small hands and across his stomach.

She kissed him gently as he came down, shaking and breathing her name, quivering as sleepy contentment rolled through him.

Rising, she grabbed a cloth and cleaned him off, peppering kisses in her wake as he beamed at her. Her fingers gently touched the bruise on his neck and she grimaced. “Sorry about that, got a touch carried away.”

“Don't be- I'll let the Rooks buzz and wonder who the lucky lady is.”

Her lips were stretching into a grin when suddenly, there was a thump downstairs.

They both froze to stone.

Jacob reacted instinctively, adrenaline wiping out his haze as he rolled to put himself between Evie and the door, body braced for intruders and a fight.

“Hello?” a familiar voice called out.

“ _George_ ," Evie breathed, face going white.

Fuck. Intruders would've been much better.

With almost superhuman speed, they leapt off the bed and pulled on their trousers as the footsteps cautiously moved up the stairs. Evie shoved her blouse on while he awkwardly bundled the guns in his arms, and they practically flew out the window to scramble up to the roof.

Stock still on the tiles, barely daring to breathe, they waited as they heard Jacob’s window swing open with a creak. There was the distant sound of an exasperated male huff. After a long and terrible silence, the window creaked shut again, the latch clicking closed.

Jacob let out a deep sigh of relief and looked towards Evie. He had to clap his hand over his mouth to stop from laughing- with a bright red face and hopelessly tangled bedhead, her corset in her hands and her rumpled blouse buttoned wrong under her coat, she looked as dishevelled as he'd ever seen her.

She took a deep and rattling breath. “Help me get neat and let's get out of here, shall we?”

\---

Later in the week, Evie returned to the train to find Jacob snickering at a piece of paper. He would periodically peter off before he would look at the sheet in his hand and start all over again, fingers splayed over his face as he laughed.

She gave him a poke. “What’s so funny?”

He held it out to her, shaking his head with an enormous grin. “This arrived today. Incredible.”

 

_Dear Evie and Jacob –  
_

_I make a habit of checking on your family home. I regret to inform you that on my last visit, I appear to have interrupted some young people who took advantage of the empty house to engage in… Shall we say, amorous activities._

_They ran off before I could apprehend them. I have changed the locks so as to prevent this from happening again._

_Jacob, the next time you're home I recommend washing the sheets before you sleep in your bed._

_George_

 

“Oh my God,” she said, feeling her cheeks burn as she put a hand to her mouth.

Jacob fished around in his pocket and pulled out a key. “He sent us the new key and everything. So conscientious, our George is.”

She took the key. “Oh my God,” she said again, unable to summon any other words.

“Can you imagine if he'd been five seconds quicker? The heart attack would've killed him.”

They looked at each other for a long moment before they both dissolved into guilty giggles, like two naughty children caught with their hands in the sweets jar.

Which- in a way, she supposed- wasn't too far from the truth.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know Jacob's horse-soothing voice. "Who's a good horse? You are."


	7. Mistakes Were Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some boundaries you don't overstep without asking. 
> 
> RATING: Explicit. Tags: spanking, mildly dubious consent (always ask first, kids!)

He was always rougher when he came back from a kill.

She was at her desk this time, poring over some documents, bored and vaguely ready to finish up for the night. The only warning she had was the stomp of his feet and the click of the lock on her train carriage door; with a quick movement, he pulled her chair back and slipped a gloved hand down her shirt, kneading roughly, the cold leather taut against her skin.

His breath was hot as he mumbled against her ear. “Need you.”

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, feeling the pooling warmth in her hips. There was the sharp tang of blood in the air, sprayed across his clothes, the scent an integral part of their trade that she was only too familiar with. There was something about bloodlust that translated so easily into… Well, the usual sort of lust.

With a quick nod, she tipped her head back, giving him easier access.

She heard one of her blouse buttons clatter to the floor as he pulled at the fabric, eager and hungry. Oh well- it could always be sewed back on later.

Shirt pooling around her waist, he reached under her arms and pulled her up to her feet, pushing her over the desk in a rough movement. She collided with the books and papers that she had carefully set out, sending them sideways or onto the floor in a rustling and jumbled mess. An ink pot skidded over and narrowly avoided her head as she scrabbled for purchase, face laid against the smooth grains of the wood.

She was on the verge of complaining when his hand reached between her legs, and then she suddenly didn't feel like complaining any more.

“Evie,” he groaned softly. A thumping noise accompanied her chair being kicked out of the way and she could feel his gauntlet hand pressed against her back, warm and reassuring.

There was a pinch on her shoulder blade as she felt him bite and suck, bruising in a way that made her whimper, hands travelling down until his thumbs hooked over the edges of her trousers and yanked them past her thighs. For a moment, she was suspended in anticipation, before she felt a cool fabric splay over her mound; she wriggled and his thumb pressed inside her, probing, testing, the leather of his glove slick and wet against her arousal.

“So ready,” he breathed against her neck, the lingering sound of a smirk in his voice. “So soon?”

Huffing, she tried to stand, but he held her down and pushed his finger deeper. With a few slow movements of his wrist, she was back to a quivering mess, mind wiped empty and hips rocking wantonly. It wasn't fair that he could do this.

His voice was ragged. “I don't want to wait.”

She twisted her neck around enough that she could smirk at him. “Then don't.”

There was a moment of regret when he withdrew, but then she felt the rustle of fabric against her legs and something hard and hot bumped against her thighs. Never mind, this was fine, this was fine.

For all his rushing, he teased her first, just pushing in the tip, his hissing breaths telling her how much it was testing his self-control.

Wriggling, she pushed backwards. “Please,” she moaned, hating how thin and reedy the word came out.

He obliged and she gritted her teeth against that first moment of discomfort, her body accommodating him slowly, stretching around his girth, finally relaxing into pleasure as he began to move.

Whatever self-control he'd had before seemed to crack now that they were joined. Bracing his hands against the desk on other side of her, he snapped his hips hard and rough, the force of it rattling her against the wood. It was overwhelming in every sense, and she found that noises were sneaking past her clamped lips, long and clear sounds of her pleasure.

“Quiet,” he breathed, and there was a sudden and sharp _crack_ as his gloved hand collided painfully with her behind.

She reacted instinctively.

Kicking out at his shin with her heel, she twisted upwards and buried her elbow in his side; he was bigger, but she had the element of surprise. He staggered backwards in shock and pain and she felt him leave her body, leaving a wet patch between her thighs. She had almost slammed a flattened hand against his windpipe before she got control of herself, breathing heavily, staggering and quickly tugging up her trousers.

His face was the picture of panic. “I- shit, sorry-“

“ _What_ ,” she breathed furiously, “were you _thinking_?”

He looked vaguely ridiculous now, pants around his knees, still obviously aroused. “I didn't- I wasn't thinking, sorry, I should've asked-“

It was hard to define why she was so angry. It was partly the lack of warning or consideration, the definite lack of respect in the action. But underneath all of that, there was a confusing undercurrent of desire, which was- which was wrong, she was an _Assassin_ , and she was certain that Assassins did _not_ enjoy being hit. “Out,” she breathed, pointing a shaking hand at the door. “Out!”

Giving her one last terrified look, he scrambled his clothes back into something resembling order and left like the wind.

\---

The next morning, some flowers were at her door.

She knew they weren't from Henry because their symbolism was all wrong- why would anyone send flowers meaning deceit?

There was a small piece of paper next to them. When she bent to retrieve it, she found one word in Jacob’s messy scrawl: _sorry_.

She bit her lip. The flowers went in a vase next to her bed.

The next day, there was another gift, this time a little bag of mint humbugs. They were tied to a note again: _so, so sorry_.

The mint humbugs were sweet against her tongue. She felt herself thawing a bit.

On the third day, there was no gift outside her door. Refusing to be disappointed, she set to work with her documents; some time past noon, there was a quick rap at her window when the train pulled into the station. When she looked out, a small boy was standing on the platform. “You Evie Frye?”

“That's me,” she confirmed, confused.

He pushed a parcel towards her. “For you, miss, fresh out the oven.”

Back at her desk, she unwrapped a delicious smelling hot pie, delicate crust flaked over rich and sweet apple. Another note was affixed to the top of the box: _I'm an ass. Please forgive me._

He was trying, she would give him that.

That night, as she lay in bed, she replayed the offending scene in her head again. With foreknowledge of the smack, she found herself anticipating that part of the memory, the sting of his hand followed by warmth that vibrated through her skin. It wasn't so different from the excitement of his teeth, she thought now, the sharp edge of pain meeting the slow surge of pleasure.

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, an uncomfortable wetness growing between her legs. It didn't make _sense_ , but she was starting to wonder if she hadn't overreacted a little. He still should've warned her, but even so…

The room was cold when she crawled out of her covers, her bare feet padding against the floor. She almost thought he wouldn't be back yet, it was too early; but when she got to his carriage, he was there, lying against the couch and looking miserable.

“Evie,” he said, jumping up when he heard her. He was down to his shirt and trousers, not quite ready for bed. “Shit, I- are you speaking to me again? I-“

Pressing a finger to his lips, she shushed him. “You should've warned me first. Or said anything. Given that you'd never done that before.”

He nodded dumbly against her finger.

“But...” she lowered her hand and looked at her feet, the words easier if she wasn't facing him. “If you would like to…”

“No,” he said instantly, vehemently. “If you don't want to, I'll never again-“

She bit her lip and shook her head. “I, uh, I think I wouldn't mind.”

“I don't want you to feel as though-“

“No,” she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Why was he being so dense? “I would like you to.”

She cracked an eye open and found that his eyes were as wide as she'd ever seen them, his mouth hanging a little open. “Wha?”

“I've come around to it,” she said awkwardly. “I kind of would like-“

The kiss was so fierce that he bodily lifted her up off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging tightly as he carried her to the couch; when he sat, he twisted her legs off and positioned her until she was bent over his knee, legs and chest pressed to the soft fabric of the couch.

“Er,” she managed. “This isn't quite…” What I had in mind, is what she meant to say, but the words trailed off when he tugged the hem of her nightdress up and ran a hand over her behind.

“Is this alright?” He said quietly, slowly tracing his fingers in circles.

“Yeee-eees,” she breathed, the word stretching into two happy syllables as she sighed. His hand disappeared and she tensed for a moment-

She sucked in a sharp hiss of air as his hand snapped against her skin. It wasn't too hard, just enough to slightly sting, and the flush of heat that followed somehow went straight to her hips. The second smack redoubled that heat and she rocked against it, keening, relaxing as he rubbed the sore spot gently, the skin tender and sensitive.

He was hard as rock against her belly now, but when she reached for him, he batted her away. “Not yet.”

The air was cool when he pulled her nightdress off over her head, goose flesh standing along her skin. If she was honest, it wasn't entirely to do with the cold.

The next smack was harder, a little lower, that much closer to her now-aching need. The breath that she drew was ragged, her head swimming, the sensation was so intense-

“Still doing alright?” he asked quietly, and she nodded. “We can stop.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, don't, please…”

It was his turn to breath in shakily, one hand smoothing along her back as the other landed a series of quick and stinging hits, each like a little bite that nipped along her skin.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, rubbing the skin again, the whole surface now on fire with heat. “You're glowing red.”

Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of the couch as he raised his hand again, and she squealed at the contact as he brought it down, pressing her face to the pattern. God, she would never be able to look at this couch the same way again, she was going to have to stand in this room if Agnes and Henry and God only knows who else and all she would be able to think of was being bent over Jacob’s knee and begging for more of this-

He hand dipped between her legs and he let out a muttered oath. “My God, Evie, you're fucking soaked.”

It was embarrassing but she mostly just didn't want him to stop, didn't want him to ever stop when he slid his fingers inside and pressed against her as she writhed, little sobs drawn from her as she bucked.

“You get like this so quickly of late,” he breathed, withdrawing to add another few slaps as she arched against him and gasped, his fingers roughly pushing right back in before she had time to recover. She was panting now and could barely think, breath coming in quick gasps, mind white and clear. “So wanton.”

“This is- your fault-“ she mumbled, not thinking terribly clearly, voice almost slurred.

“Good,” he purred, and something in her snapped. She lurched backwards and scrabbled at his belt, pulling his cock loose and trying to climb over him- but the angle of the couch was all wrong, he was sitting so far back that she would almost have to go into the splits. Instead, she turned around, kneeling away from him and grabbing him blindly so that she could sink her hips and take him in.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he managed, before she settled onto him fully, head falling and shoulders tensing at the glorious fullness of it. It was a bit exposing, to be facing the empty room like this with him tucked behind her, but in some ways it heightened the purely physical aspects of the sensation.

She hovered for a moment to enjoy it before his fingers began to trace her sore skin, gentle touches that somehow tickled and inflamed all at once. “Still red,” he whispered, and she closed her eyes at the image of what he was seeing, red handprints against white skin. His fingers crept around to cover her breasts as he pressed kisses to her back, lifting his hips to meet her as she started to rock back and forth, her feet and toes curling as he hit- oh God- that place, that place over and over and over and oh _God_ -

His fingers, oh, his clever fingers, had somehow slid down her front and they were moving and heaven help her, she dissolved into a million blinking stars in his arms, legs quaking, liquid fire along her back and neck and fingertips and mercy, mercy, mercy.

Sagging against him, he lifted her off him and stood, settling her gently against the couch. She was bemused until she watched him scrabble around in a drawer and come back with a familiar little paper packet.

The skin was pulled on with his fumbling hands but she stopped him before he could reach for her, flapping her hand vaguely in his direction. “Rest of clothes… off.”

He laughed before obeying, stripping down and revealing corded muscle, the tattoos dark splotches against his skin in the dim light, hair creating an enticing trail down his front. Running his hand a bit awkwardly along his neck, he sat beside her, slouching down so that she had room to straddle and face him if she wished; she slung her leg over his hips and pulled him in for another long kiss as they came together again.

She arched her neck and let him tuck his head into the crook of her shoulder as he canted his hips upwards, marvelling at how soft the brush of his hair felt against her skin. Arms tightly wound around her, they rocked together, following the motion of the still-moving train, his breathing growing more ragged against her chest with time. His fingers tugged at her hair until all the braids came loose, hair slipping down in waves until it made a curtain around them, Jacob making a pleased humming noise as it happened.

Pulling her down for a kiss, he quickened their movements until she was crying out again, the sound pulled out of her by the force of it, his fingers bruising around her waist. She hung on for dear life against his shoulders until he let out a low rumbling with a few erratic, quick thrusts, muscles in his back clenching under her arms as he spent, his breath in hot bursts against her skin.

Tangled together, sweaty from exertion, they slumped in a panting silence until she felt one of the muscles in her leg start to cramp. When she shifted, Jacob shook his head as if he'd been falling asleep, and staggered to his feet towards his nightshirt.

“So…” Nightshirt found and pulled on, he picked up her nightdress from the floor and tugged it back over her head with a gentle smoothing down at the end. “Not mad at me any more?”

She bit back a smile and rolled her eyes as he beamed at her. “No.”

“Thank God,” he muttered. “Everyone else is too nice to me.”

Taking his hand with a grin, she dragged him from the couch, intent on leading him back to her thin bed where they could spend the rest of the night tucked tightly in each other's arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now seeking prompts, if you're so inclined. Head over to Tumblr (PoetHrotzvitha) if you want to ask anonymously.


	8. Convalescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure fluffy hurt/comfort. Evie has her monthly visitor and gets some cuddles to help her cope. 
> 
> RATING: Teen. Tags: Drabble, cuddles, singing, pure fluff

Evie could feel the curl of pain in her abdomen from the moment she woke up. The inconvenience had arrived with as little warning as usual, it would seem. Damn the necessities of the female body. Damn them, damn them, damn them.

Pulling a box from under her bed, she dug through until she found her guard bandages. With a sigh, she slid the cotton between her legs, looping some ribbons around her waist to secure it in place against her skin.

Damn it all.

As she had feared, the ache grew worse throughout the morning. No amount of hot tea seemed to help. Eventually, it got to the point where she had to send a message to Henry, letting him know that she would be missing their meeting. It was humiliating that her femaleness had to interfere with her duties, but she couldn't work through the discomfort.

His answer came with the two o’clock post. _Please rest, and feel better soon_.

She happily settled into the non-restricting fabric of her nightdress and crawled into bed, letting the world drift by.

Some time past four, her train carriage door slid open. Only one person came in without knocking first.

“Go away,” she groaned, not willing to tolerate his teasing.

Jacob’s hand was gentle when he patted her head. “Greenie said you weren't well.” His voice took a slightly annoyed tone. “Why didn’t you send for me?”

“I'm fine.”

“Yes, you certainly look fine. I often come back here and find you in bed looking like death at four in the afternoon when you’re fine.”

“It's just the usual thing,” she grumbled. When she looked up, his face was blank and confused. Oh, to be so blissfully ignorant. “My menses?”

“ _Oh_. Oh.” Now he looked uncomfortable. “Can I do anything?”

“Not really. Not unless you can magically produce some pineapple and make the pain go away.”

“I can do the pineapple,” he said. “Is one out of two acceptable?” Before she could answer, he was out the door, calling “ten minutes!” as he left.

Well, that was rather charming of him.

She lay and listened to the ticking of the clock until he returned, bearing his prize in his hands. The paper package had soaked through a little by the time he passed it to her, followed by a fork from the dining car. Shifting up in the bed, she balanced the sweet fruit in her lap, digging in with a happy sigh. She had such a weakness for these.

When she was two bites in, he stood and left, only to return with a cup that he set on her bedside table. She pointed at it with her fork. “What's that?”

“Cocoa,” he said, almost looking a bit embarrassed. “Remembered that you normally like sweet things when you're like this.” 

 _Definitely_ charming.

Reaching out, she took his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “Thank you.”

Now he looked embarrassed and pleased all at once. Every now and then, in between being infuriating and compelling, he had the capacity to be frighteningly adorable. It made her heart squeeze in all the right ways. 

Wriggling over, she gestured to the sheets. “Keep me company? I'm bored in here but reading gives me a headache.”

Nodding, he shrugged his coat and vest off, nudging up beside her once he was down to his shirtsleeves. He watched as she happily devoured the rest of the pineapple, sucking the juice off the tips of her fingers when she was done.

When Evie took the cocoa and cuddled up against him, he gave her arm a reassuring rub. “Do all women deal with this?”

The drink was delicious. “To varying degrees.”

“Seems a bit rough. Although… I suppose it’s better than the alternative.”

She didn't follow. “What?”

“Better than if it didn't arrive.”

Evie took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying not to think about how possible it was- and how utterly disastrous that would be. They had never really discussed what would happen, and she wasn't sure she even wanted to. “We’ll keep being careful.”

“We will,” he agreed.

The light was dimming and she had finished her cocoa and almost drifted off to sleep when another surge of fresh pain tightened on her gut like a garrote. Grimacing, she tensed, curling around the source of the discomfort.

Jacob shifted under her. “Something wrong?”

“It comes in waves,” she gritted out.

He patted her waist in a worried sort of way.

It was rather strange to be doing this with someone else. She was used to mostly coping with these pains on her own, waiting for it to pass with frustrated impatience, rather than having someone stroking her hair. It made the whole situation a great deal more tolerable. Wriggling further into her side, she looked up at him. “Do you remember how Grandmother used to sing to us when we were sick?”

“No, Evie.”

“You don't remember?”

He gave her a _look_. “No, I mean, I'm not singing for you.”

Time for the big guns. She batted her eyelashes and tried to arrange her face into its most hopeful smile. “Please?”

“No.”

Drat. She never had been terribly good at feminine wiles. She propped her elbows on his chest and pouted at him. “Pleeeease?”

Closing his eyes, he took a long and deep breath. After a long pause, he grudgingly conceded. "Just this once.”

Evie made a happy noise and snuggled down onto his shoulder, curling her body against his. He barely ever sang- and when he did, it was usually in a crowd and after a lot of beer had gone around. A bit hard to hear his lovely baritone at that point.

She had no illusions about her own voice. If singing talent had been passed out in the womb, he had gotten both of their portions.

Jacob cleared his throat and started with a hum before he broke into words. _As I walked out over London Bridge, on a misty morning early…_

It was as pleasant as a distraction could be. She could feel the rumble in his chest before the sound came forth, a full-body experience as he rubbed her arm back and forth. Life was so much nicer with him around. She preferred it infinitely to those long years of being ignored.

_I overheard a fair pretty maid, crying for the life of her Geordie_

If she had to endure this physical discomfort, surely this was the most comfortable way to do it. The effort that he made was a precious thing to be enjoyed, she thought, especially with the hovering threat of never knowing what the future might bring.

_Saddle me a milk-white steed, bridle me a pony- and I'll ride down to London Town, and I'll beg for the life of my Geordie_

His singing voice was so rich; it was really a shame that he didn’t use it more often. Part of her wanted to try and stay awake, to enjoy it for as long as she could. She always felt a bit like this: like they were enjoying stolen moments. But wrapped in his steady embrace and buffeted by the warmth of the carriage, she found herself drifting off almost immediately. 

_And when she came to the courthouse steps, the poor folk numbered many_

He smelled so good and it was heartrending that he tried to comfort her where he could, even if he couldn't when the world was watching. 

_A hundred crowns she passed around, saying pray for the life of my Geordie_

Stay with me, she thought, as sleep claimed her.

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some extremely lazy research (i.e., google) about [**pads in the Victorian era.**](http://susannaives.com/wordpress/2015/09/tidbits-on-mid-victorian-era-menstrual-hygiene/)
> 
> [ **Jacob's song.** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Acj-UPqzWbY)


	9. The Road Not Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie dreams of a life that might have been. 
> 
> RATING: G. Tags: Let me rip out your heart, angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is GRATUITOUSLY SAD. Just... Be aware.

She can hardly give birth on a train, so they find a room in Whitechapel.

It’s small- barely enough room for a bed, stove, and crib- but it’s enough.

The looks begin about four months in, when her stomach starts to really swell. She has to abandon the tight vests and trousers for looser garments, for a smock-like top that moves more than she would like as she walks.

The Rooks don’t dare say anything- Jacob bites off too many heads for that, and one particularly rude young man ends up with a broken nose- but they eye her sideways as the months pass all the same, with a combination of pity and disdain that she can’t stand.

And Henry. He closes off almost completely once she tells him, his eyes alternating between sad and resentful. It makes their work tremendously awkward; their visits gradually dwindle until they only see each other when absolutely necessary. She misses his easy company, but she understands.

Jacob also oscillates, but it is between excitement and panic. The memory of their mother’s death lingers all too clearly, and he spends his time looking for the best possible doctors and midwives to be had. She insists that she’s happy with Maggie, who lives down the hall and has had eight children of her own- and supervised over a dozen of her daughters’ births besides- but he is insistent.

So she endures visits from some rather condescending physicians who huff at her about being unmarried, about how it will damage the well-being of the child. She ignores them.

Jacob visits most nights. There is still wild drinking at the pub, but he curbs it enough that he can crawl under the covers before she properly falls asleep, curving his body around her back.

She’s self-conscious about her changing body, but he seems entranced by it. He’s especially delighted by her expanding breasts, which she finds irritating and charming at the same time; he’s constantly touching her, as if to confirm that she’s real, that she’s here, that she actually exists and is standing by his side.

They make love with wild abandon. After all, the worst has already happened. Some days, they don’t leave the small room, intent on exploring each other in every way imaginable, nervous about the impending change and what it might do to them as a pair.

Months pass and she has days when she feels so sick that she can barely let him touch her, let alone be intimate; he rubs her feet and braids her hair, feeding her tea and toast. Some days, she feels fine, and she welcomes him into her bed again. They adjust to her growing form, working around her stomach.

Sometimes, staying in the room seems easier. There, it is just the two of them. No judgements, no explanations, no holding her head high until her neck starts to ache from the strain of it.

In the event, it turns out that the fancy doctors don’t even arrive in time for the birth. The baby comes three weeks early, and comes so fast that she barely has time to get Maggie down the hall; two hours of screaming later, Cecily Frye slips into the world, angry and red, kicking everything she can reach.

Jacob is finally tracked down by a Rook and arrives looking like a man running from demons on his heels. He reaches for her until Evie coughs pointedly, looking to Maggie, still standing in the room.

“Are you the Father?” Maggie asks. She’s been remarkably understanding of Evie’s need for privacy, but curiosity has apparently overcome that in the face of this bedraggled and stressed looking man.

“Uh…” Jacob takes Cecily from her arms, eyes as big as saucers. “No. Brother. Er, Uncle. I’m Uncle Jacob.”

He says the words softly, almost with regret.

She half-thinks that he will start to sleep away from her, now that there is a wailing baby keeping her up half the night. Instead, he is around more, jiggling Cecily in his too-big hands, rubbing her shoulders when she breaks down and cries from exhaustion and stress. The Rooks are always there when he needs to let off steam, and some nights he returns bleary-eyed from drink, but they are much rarer than she expects them to be.

His constant touching extends to Cecily, as if he now can’t believe that either of them are there. Sometimes he stands in the middle of the room, holding the little bundle of fabric with their daughter in it, looking back and forth between her and his arms as if he can’t believe that any of this is real.

She’s young, and she’s in top physical condition, so she heals fairly rapidly. Within a few months, she’s hungry for him again, to the point where one night he laughs and asks if she’s so determined to have another.

She adjusts back to normal life. She straps Cecily to her chest and tries to go about as much of her business from before as she can; Jacob has a conniption if they get near anything violent, but she's able to continue her research, her work in improving Whitechapel.

Things get more difficult as Cecily passes her first birthday.

That's when it becomes clear that she's going to have trouble finding playmates; the children of Whitechapel are accommodating enough, and the Rooks are always available for piggyback rides. But beyond that, mothers quickly tuck their babies away when Evie approaches. As if her fallen status is something communicable, that their own precious babies might catch.

She grits her teeth and endures it. She's always lived on the fringe; she can manage this as well.

Jacob, for possibly the first time, is faced with a problem that he can't fix by punching things. The two of them watch as Cecily gets older and begins to notice the way that other children won't play with her; it feels unfair that their own connection has led to this precious part of their life being in pain.

They move to a new flat. It has two bedrooms, with a connecting door that they use once Cecily is asleep. If at all possible, they don't intend to ever tell her about her parentage. It's for the best.

Time passes. Occasionally, a well-meaning gentleman will spot Evie with her child and offer to rescue her from her infamy. I'll be a good husband, they say; you and your daughter will want for nothing. She turns them down politely, to great general confusion.

People approach Jacob with pity. How unfair, they say, that your freedom is curtailed by your sister and her bastard. You ought to be finding your own wife, having your own child, rather than raising hers. He is not polite; if it's a woman, he snarls. If it's a man, he punches.

Cecily learns to walk, to run, to dance. She is curious like her mother, stubborn like her father. She throws tantrums like other children, cries for no reason when she is hungry or tired. But most of all, she is fiercely loved, shielded as best as possible from the inevitable cruelties of the world. There will be so much time for that later.

One night, she drums her little hands on Jacob’s knees as he sits in front of the fire. He hoists her up and she wriggles against his chest, turning big brown eyes up to him. “Do I haf’ta go to bed, Uncle Jake?”

Both of them swivel and look at Evie, projecting matching puppy dog eyes.

“You can stay up a little longer,” she says evenly, counting her stitches as she knits yet another jumper for her wriggly little daughter who insists on rolling in the mud and tearing her clothes every second day. “But then, yes, bed.”

Cecily pouts up at Jacob. He starts to braid her hair gently, carding his fingers through the strands. “Listen to your Mama, Ceecee. She's a smart one.”

“But I don't want to,” she moans. She consents to the braiding, leaning backwards; within minutes, she has drifted off to sleep, letting out little snuffles in his lap.

Jacob shifts with a grin. “Works every time.”

Evie bites her lip. “The girl down the lane- that one with the terrible teeth- was cruel again today. I left her playing for fifteen minutes in the courtyard and found her crying when I came back.” Cecily wouldn't tell her what the girl had said, but she could guess.

Jacob’s brow darkens. “Little brat.”

They are silent for a moment. The crackling of the fire is cheery, the flickering light pushing everything into half-shadow.

She sets her knitting down. “Do you ever think we made a mistake?”

Even in the dim light, his arms tighten protectively around their little girl, his gaze fierce. “No. Never.”

\---

The evening air was warm.

Evie opened her eyes to the same open and sparse room as she had for the last three years, crickets singing in the otherwise still night, her husband quietly breathing beside her.

It was not the first of such dreams. And, no doubt, it would not be the last.

When she lifted her fingers to her cheek, she found that they came away damp. Scrubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand, she rolled onto her side, stamping down the familiar panic and grief. This would pass. It would all pass.

She just had to ride it out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY


	10. The Excursion, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally starting on the requests that I asked for ages ago! This one is for the prompt of "dirty carriage ride." 
> 
> RATING: Explicit. Tags: carriage rides turned sexy, girl on top.

“I still can't believe you dragged me out here.” Jacob squinted against the sunlight, holding a hand over his eyes. Green hills rippled out in every direction, only the occasional farmhouse breaking the sea of grass and sheep.

Their ride was due to arrive any minute, theoretically. The station was empty otherwise, all of the other disembarked passengers long having cleared away.

“You didn't have to come,” Evie replied calmly. “I seem to recall you asking to join me. Something about the seaside and drinking in Wales?” She made a pretty picture, blouse and skirt ruffling a little in the wind. He'd nearly choked on his own spit in shock when she first came out that way, before she pulled out a drab overcoat for him and insisted he swap out his hat for one more muted and dull. Something about blending in and not leaving an impression.

He turned his squint on her. “That was before I knew you were going to drag us to the middle of nowhere looking for some stupid artefact.”

“You don't have to stay.” She waved a hand at him, dismissive. “Go get on the next train and head off wherever you please.”

He stayed put. Like he was going to pass up a chance to stay in a lodging house somewhere with her.

“That's what I thought,” she said primly.

Jacob was trying to summon a retort when a cloud of dirt signalled an approaching carriage. He'd expected just a cart, but this was a proper Hansom- if a little bit scuffed up around the edges.

“You Miss Langdon?” the driver called out, hopping down from the perch.

“Mrs, actually,” Evie replied smoothly. She gestured to Jacob. “This is my husband.”

Jacob managed to keep his face straight as the driver tipped his hat. “Right you are, Sir. Sorry about the delay, had some trouble with the horses. Things are all ready up at the house.”

The driver opened the door for Evie and helped her delicately settle in before leaving Jacob to climb in behind her. Jacob had to take a moment to collect himself before he followed- it was extremely unlike her to accept help.

Once inside, he leaned over to whisper. “Tell me again why you're acting so strangely?”

She fussed with her skirt, trying to get it to tuck neatly under her legs. “The last thing we need is Templars able to follow us from a mile away by saying ‘excuse me, did the only young woman wearing trousers in England come through here recently with her arrogant brother?’”

“Fair enough,” he mumbled, settling against the seat as the carriage began to move. They began to jostle along the road, occasionally going over a rut that jarred his spine.

A little ways in, Evie leaned forward and rapped on the front of the carriage. “Excuse me, how long of a journey is it?”

The driver slid open the little viewing window and yelled back. “About a half hour, missus.”

She settled back with a sigh as he snapped the window shut again. “Long enough to end up with a sore behind, then.” Crossing her arms, she slouched a little against the seat, her skirt bunching awkwardly. “I wish I was back in my trousers.”

“I don’t know,” he said. He tossed his very sensible and boring hat onto the opposite bench before leaning around to cup her face. “I like it.”

The look she gave him was a mix between being pleased and exasperated. “I thought you might.”

“Mm,” he continued, hooking his thumb on her lip slowly. “I like it _very_ much. Was disappointed that we didn’t get a private compartment on the train. Kept willing that old lady to go away and sit somewhere else.”

The colour was rising in her cheeks and she was obviously trying to hide a smile. “That’s wicked.”

He leaned in to nuzzle the soft skin behind her ear. “You make me wicked.”

“You’ve been wicked since the day you were born,” she retorted, still shifting aside to give him easier access to her neck. For all her protestations, she was always willing, and damn if that didn’t make him love her all the more.

The carriage jolted over another bump and he decided to get straight to the point. Slipping a hand under her thigh, he hoisted her firmly over to straddle him, slouching back a little so she had something to sit against. Pulling her down into a curve over him, he gave her a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth that jarred together in the rattling carriage. She tasted like the sandwiches they’d eaten on the train and the cider they’d used to wash it down, her fingers tightening on his shoulders through the coarse wool jacket as she responded eagerly, slanting her mouth open with a moan.

When he finally let her pull away, her lips were swollen from his efforts. “Now my knees will be sore,” she complained, clearly not meaning it in the slightest.

“I’ll distract you,” he said, hands lifting piles of fabric to try and get to her legs underneath. “Christ, why is there so much skirt?”

She snorted. “I didn’t even bother with the underskirts and a full hip-length corset, this would normally be much more difficult.”

“Hard to imagine.” When he finally found them, he traced his fingers up until he met some more tufted fabric around her legs, frowning in confusion. “Hmm?”

“Bloomers. Couldn’t exactly go without.”

Right. Of course. “That’s inconvenient.”

She leaned back on her knees and gave him a slow smile, the kind that made his pulse start to pound in his ears. Her hands slid down his chest until she reached his arm, tracing the lines of his shirt until she could wrap her fingers around his wrist. Guiding him, she placed his hand firmly between her legs. “Not so inconvenient.”

Frowning, he ran his fingers along the fabric. “Ah,” he said, understanding dawning as he realized there was a split in the fabric. “Now what’s _this_ doing here?”

She bent down over him again and tugged his earlobe between his teeth, making him hiss and sending a bolt of arousal to his gut all at once. Little minx. “Easy access,” she purred.

“You’re acting all sorts of strange today,” he said, trying to draw his head back and get a proper look at her. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you?”

“Jacob,” she whispered, cupping his face. “Right here, right now, no one knows us. We’re just a married couple on our honeymoon. For just once, I don’t have to be Evie Frye, and I don’t care if we make the driver blush a little.”

“Oh, we’re on a honeymoon?” he said, grinning at her. “Say no more.”

Gently, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Just let me be someone else for a little,” she mumbled, the movement brushing against his own mouth.

Now that he could do. Reassured, he let his fingers slip between the break in the fabric at the cleft of her legs, thrilled to find the dampness underneath. “As long as it’s my name you’re screaming, I can live with that.”

She let out a breathy gasp and spread her legs a little wider as he found the little bundle of nerves and circled it with his thumb, lazy and slow. He slid some of her wetness up to make it easier, enjoying the way that her breath hitched with each of his movements. Thank God for having enough practice that he really didn’t need to see what he was doing any more.

“Please,” she said, gently beating the heel of her palm against his shoulder. “Please-”

“Shh,” he murmured, “patience.” He took his other hand and calmly placed it behind his head, giving her an indulgent smile. She stared back wide-eyed, blush now full under her freckles, rocking her hips back and forth above him.

He liked this, making it look easy. Like he was relaxed and calm as she completely fell apart on top of him, shaking and panting in her desperation to have more of him.

It was a lie, of course. He was unbearably hard in his trousers and his heart was beating like he’d just come off a six-man fight, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Let’s see those pretty tits,” he said, smiling as her nose scrunched a little. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

Wordlessly, still canting her hips to try and push his fingers inside her, she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, working it down. He took particular pleasure in just nudging the tips of his fingers in every time she started on a new button, making her fumble and whine in frustration. Finally free, she reached around and unlaced the back of her half-corset, tugging the fabric away and allowing him the glorious view of rounded flesh with soft pink peaks.

“Excellent,” he said, and rewarded her with one slow finger slid inside. She resumed her movements, desperately trying to turn it into more, but he was stubbornly still. “Play with them.”

“What?” she said, eyes hazy, hands now absently stroking the scruff on his chin.

Moving the hand behind his head, he gripped her wrist and guided it to her chest. There was a moment of hesitation and embarrassment before he began to gently move the finger inside of her, giving her just a little bit more of what he wanted. Her shoulders went slack and she obediently reached up, pinching and twisting the pink between her fingers, the movements joining in pace with the canting of her hips.

Fuck, she was incredible. One of her shirt sleeves slipped off her shoulder as she moved, muscles flexing in her stomach, the long lines of her neck exposed as she tipped her neck back and stared at the roof of the carriage. He watched as her eyes closed, losing herself in the sensation of it, wanton and so different from the tightly wound disciplinarian that everyone else knew.

This was their little secret.

He felt each heavy breath rush through his nose as he tried to maintain his control, watching this divine creature in front of him. The light filtering through the curtains drawn over the windows let him see the smattering of freckles that were across the top of her chest, the few that sat in the hollow of her throat. Her lips were clamped tightly shut in an effort to be quiet, and he relished the sudden guttural moan that escaped when he added another finger and curled them, making her eyes fly open in shock.

“You like that?” he murmured, as one of her hands flew up to brace against the roof. “Enjoying this?”

“Yes,” she gasped out, “yes, yes, _yes_ -”

“Not too loud. You’ll give the poor driver a fright.”

She continued to chant but more quietly, whispering it under her breath over and over as her hands curled in the fabric over the ceiling of the carriage. He felt the telltale quiver around his fingers so he leaned in to the hollow of her throat, breathing the words against her skin. “Come on, _Mrs_. _Langdon_. I can't wait to be inside you but you've got to come first- I'm so ready to feel you hot and wet around me, I'm going to fuck you senseless-”

With a muffled cry, she unravelled, leaning into his hand as he quickly clamped it over her mouth. She let out a shuddering series of gasps as she convulsed, knees tightly braced against his thighs, back bowing when she finally relaxed and went slack against his shoulder.

Fuck, yes, finally. Because that was beautiful, but his cock was aching so hard that it was driving him mad. Her hands joined his as they frantically grappled with his belt and undid the buttons of his fly, yanking his trousers and underwear down past his hips.

Without being able to see what was happening, he let her lead, sitting back as she ruffled the skirt up over his front and gripped his cock tightly. Skimming his hands along her partially bare back, he kissed her over and over, soft little pecks that she returned with enthusiasm, continuing the movement when her mouth opened to pant as she finally aligned them properly and slid down onto him.

His eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the goddamned ecstasy of it, the shuddering pleasure of finally being joined. It only improved when she immediately started to roll her hips, digging down onto him like she was desperate for what only he could provide. Her hunger drove him wild; fuck, there was nothing quite like it. She was so fucking wet that he could feel it slick against her thighs.

Trying to get comfortable against the cushions, he rested his hands along her waist. “You should wear a skirt all the time, this is fantastic.”

“Don’t be ridi-” they went over a particularly harsh jump and she broke off with a gasp, bouncing a little, the sensation of it delicious as she clenched around him, her hands twining through his hair in panic.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, leaning forward and lowering his mouth to latch onto a breast, swirling his tongue against the stiff point. His scalp was starting to ache a little from the way she was tugging, but it was strangely satisfying, sending little sparks of interest straight to his cock with each pull.

Her movements were uneven, made difficult by her straddling and the way that they were being jostled on the road. It was easy to take over, sliding back down a little further and planting his feet firmly on the floor of the carriage.

She shifted and braced herself against either side of his head just in time for him to firmly grip her hips, hold her in place, and begin to rock up into her with force.

It was immensely satisfying to watch her immediately snap a fist to her mouth and bite down on her knuckles, eyes growing wide as she tried to stifle her own sounds.

“I thought you wanted to give the driver a show,” he said, grinning as she turned even redder. The idea that she still had the capacity to worry about appearing proper when she was half naked over his nearly fully-clothed form, when they were already breaking every rule imaginable- it tickled him in all the right ways.

“Not that much of a show,” she whispered as she bounced, casting a half-nervous glance towards the front of the carriage.

He hadn’t actually wanted her to worry. “Here,” he said, stopping for a second to shuffle out of his big and ugly coat. Gently, he settled it onto her shoulders, covering her bare back while still letting him have the show of the front. “Bite down on the sleeve,” he said, offering it to her.

Nodding, she tucked the fabric between her teeth. With a glint in her eye, she pulled her hips up lightly to half-slide off of him, tensing and holding herself steady at a hover. Feeling like he’d been given permission, he sucked in a breath and started to chase his own release in earnest, fucking her with the intensity that she always managed to spark in him. The headiness was only made stronger by the sudden surge of emotion that he felt when her fingers lovingly stroked his cheek.

The coat was muffling the sounds but it couldn’t hide them in their entirety. Her little moans only pushed him higher, making the curl of his arousal at the base of his spine beat ever stronger.

He was close; he could feel it. Combining his upwards thrusts with yanking her down to him by the hips, he focused on the tight warmth of her and the lewd sound of their skin meeting over and over. With a last few rattles and bumps over the road, he gritted his teeth as his release rushed on him. Shoving her hips up, he pulled out of her as he came, no doubt staining the inside of her pretty dress with each shudder.

Shifting, she wrapped her arms around his head and stroked his hair as he twitched and rode out the orgasm. The little kisses against the top of his head were like discovering an extra pretzel at the bottom of the bag, that little addition that made an already wonderful experience even better.

Letting his head loll back, he smiled through his haze as she pulled out a handkerchief from somewhere and wiped him clean, tugging up his pants and rearranging the belt and buttons. He managed to steal the chance to leave a few more peppered kisses on her breasts before she did the shirt up, laughing at him and his sleepy contentment.

“I might have to keep your coat for the time being,” she whispered, pulling it closer around herself. “I can’t get the corset back on until I can undress properly.”

“Keep it forever,” he mumbled. “I hate it.”

She laughed again and climbed off him, sitting opposite and propping her feet up to rest in his lap. “It’s not all bad, being here.”

The carriage rolled to a stop some time later and they both looked expectantly towards the door as the driver opened it. He was unable to meet either of their eyes, the tops of his ears a bright pink. “We’re here, sir and missus. They’re expecting you at the house.”

Hopping out, Jacob offered a hand to Evie and helped her step down without tripping in her skirts. Taking her arm, they began to walk towards the front door while the driver practically fled, clearly eager to get away from the embarrassment of it all.

“Fair enough,” Jacob agreed, relenting and giving her a grin. “It’s definitely not all bad.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The split in the bloomers thing is real. It wasn't like you could take the whole set-up off every time you needed to pee!


	11. The Excursion, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a request for continuing this, so the fake-married-AU rumbles on. I mostly needed some porn practice. Er, you're welcome?
> 
> Rating: Explicit. Warnings: Multiple orgasms, very mild sort-of exhibitionism?

The boarding house was lovely. The bed was nice and comfortable. The room was clean. It was a good location for Evie to follow up her research- yes, everything was almost perfect.

Almost.

_THUMP THUMP THUMP._

"Wow,” Jacob said, sitting on the bed with his feet propped up against the covers, mostly hidden behind a newspaper. He was looking towards the ceiling, to the source of the noise upstairs. “They're at it _again_.”

Shortly after, the female moaning started, gradually building in pitch until there was a focused whine. That had to be the fourth time in two hours.

Irritably, Evie snapped her pen down. “For God’s sake, I wish she'd stop faking. It's encouraging him.”

Jacob flopped his paper down. “What makes you think she's faking?”

She twisted around in her chair to roll her eyes at him. “There's no possible way that those are real. It's too many.”

“Are you saying I couldn't do that to you?” He looked vaguely offended at the idea. 

“No. Twice, yes. Three times, maybe. But no more.”

His eyes narrowed. “You make it sound like a challenge.”

With a snort, Evie turned back to her work. She determinedly didn't look up even when he slid off the bed and walked over, pressing a hand down her shirt as he nudged his nose near her ear. Half-heartedly, she flapped a hand at him. “I'm trying to focus.”

“I never turn down a challenge,” he murmured, tone low enough that it made warmth pool in her hips. “Come on, let's give those two upstairs a run for their money.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

She could feel his stubble brushing against her cheek, pleasantly abrasive. “Don’t be like that. I think this could be a lot of fun for you. We’re newlyweds on honeymoon, remember? Let’s really sell the act.” Her heart was starting to beat unnaturally quickly, her mouth suddenly dry. When she leaned back a little, giving his hand more room, he chuckled. “See? That’s more like it.”

In a flash, he’d dragged her chair out and around, easily lifting her by the waist. She barely had a moment to squeak before he’d practically tossed her onto the bed, with such force that she bounced a little bit against the mattress.

Spitting hair out of her mouth, Evie narrowed her eyes. “Was that really necessary?”

“Is _anything_ I do really necessary?”

She couldn’t tell if she wanted to agree with him- and thus compound the insult- or not give him the satisfaction of being right. In the end, she just glared as he walked to the edge of the bed, gripping each of her ankles in a firm hand.

Jacob’s face became focused as his hands trailed up her legs, tracing the thin stockings. There was something almost tender about it when he stroked back down to unlace her boots, pulling them off and setting them aside with a surprising gentleness.

When he started to bunch her skirts up, she found her heart starting to speed up again. Once they were nearly around her waist, he gave her a cocky smile. “So, if we’re going to win against the couple upstairs, you’ll need to be noisy.”

Evie nearly scoffed out loud. “You’re not serious.”

“You’ve said something along those lines about four times now, and I’ve been serious the whole time.”  His hands were at her inner thighs now, and it was getting hard to think. “Put your hips up, would you?” She leaned back and braced herself, giving him the leverage to tug down the drawers. When she reached for her thighs and the lace hems of the stockings, he pushed her hand away with a feral grin. “I like those. Leave them.”

Before she could ask why, he had lowered his head, giving her a long and steady lick with almost no preamble. She gasped and tangled her hand in his hair, foot scraping a little along the bed as she tried to find purchase.

Damn him but he’d learned over the past months, learned all of her favourite movements and exactly where to push and where to pull back. She could barely even see him past the piles of skirts but she could sure as hell _feel_ him, broad swipes and little delicate swirls that kept making her twitch wildly until the sole of her foot started to cramp.

The first peak snuck up almost without warning, rattling through her body with a force that made her rock fiercely, knocking the headboard repeatedly into the wall.

“One,” he muttered triumphantly, almost more to himself.

She barely had a moment to blink down at him and catch her breath before he had lowered his head again, tongue flicking against sensitized flesh. “Jacob!” She kicked a bit against his shoulders, trying to wriggle away. “That’s too soon—”

The way he ignored her was infuriating. But it was quickly overtaken by the sensation of pain giving way to pleasure as the exquisite pressure built up again, sharp edged and quick. She wanted to ask for more— it was driving her mad, all of this focus purely on the outside– but the words wouldn’t come, because if she asked, he might stop. Instead, she found herself just letting out a pitched and desperate whine, a wailing sound that she barely recognized as her own. So much for restraint. 

The bastard _laughed_ at that, a deep chuckle that resonated against her skin. Before she could register anything but a sort of furious spike in arousal, it shoved her over the edge, vision nearly going white as she arched so hard that she dragged some covers with her as she thrashed.

When she slumped back against the mattress, she felt boneless, weightless, like she was floating in the air. Jacob chuckled again, and when she lifted her head just an inch to blink at him drowsily, he was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He gave her a grin so wicked that it made her shiver. “Two.”

It took him a few moments to unhook the top buttons in his shirt and tug it over his head, tossing it aside. That done, he crawled up between her legs, sliding his hand along the dip of her waist until he reached past her neck to the curve of her jaw. When the pad of his thumb traced her lips, she opened them a touch, letting her tongue flick against the calloused surface.

He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, nostrils flaring ever so slightly. “Tempting. But not yet.”

When his hands found his way to the collar of her blouse, she thought for a moment that he was going to just rip it open. Summoning the energy in her limbs, she lightly batted him away. “Don’t ruin it, I didn’t bring many extras.”

Propping herself up, she clumsily undid the buttons, sliding out of the blouse. With a little help from him, they unlaced her corset, leaving only the crumpled fabric of the skirt; that took no time to wriggle out of, joining the other discarded clothes on the floor. That meant she was only wearing the stockings, which was apparently pleasing for him in the same abstract way as her hair being let down; she appreciated that he liked it, but wasn’t entirely sure that she understood why.

She stopped thinking about it when his hand slipped in between her legs, one finger finally pushing into the aching need that had been begging for attention all this time. The whimper crept out before she could control it, her hips bucking a little bit upwards as she tried to encourage more friction, spreading her legs as widely as they would go.

Instead, he just continued a slow in and out, a gentle push-pull that was barely a fraction of what she wanted, a maddening promise of what could be. Evie even tried to grab his wrist and force more pressure, but he was stubbornly unmoving, that little bit of extra strength and the angle giving him an advantage.

She was starting to think she might cry from being denied. “What do I have to do,” she finally whispered out, too desperate for pride.

“Make some noise,” he whispered back, utterly unrepentant.

The thought was nearly as intolerable as being denied the proper movement she wanted, but not quite. “Please,” she whispered, heartbeat nearly deafening in her ears.

He sped up ever so slightly. “Louder.”

Resisting the urge to kick him in irritation, she propped herself up on her elbows and raised her voice to speaking-levels. “Please—”

That earned another finger, but it was still too damned slow. “ _Louder_.”

With a frustrated moan, she let it slowly build in pitch, desperate for what he offered. “Please, please, _please, PLEASE_ —”

His other hand was suddenly braced against her chest, pushing her back against the bedding, holding her firmly in place. It was just as well, because when he started to apply actual force with his hand, the urge to thrash and arch was immediately overwhelming, her stockinged heels kicking aimlessly as she bucked her hips.

When he began to trace and pluck at the peaks of her breasts, fingers curving inside her and his palm grinding, she couldn't tell if it was a minute or an hour before lost control. It was simply too much all at once, full-bodied in its effect, her feet nearly cramping as her legs twitched over and over again, her throat almost raw from the desperate sound that tore from her mouth. Distantly, she could tell that he was groaning something, something like _fuck_ and _so tight_ and _I can’t wait to be inside you_ , the anticipation curling up her spine as each of them dimly settled in her mind.  

Before she could properly think about it, though, she had barely come down before she was swept up _again_ , this time barely a recognizable feeling. It was more like her whole body curling in on itself, every muscle coiled in anticipation and longing, the tremors so achingly good that she could barely breathe. She had to push Jacob away, the tingling wave still shuddering through her, the sensation so tightly concentrated between her legs that it was very nearly— but not quite— painful. When she collapsed against the bed, the tenseness was almost immediately replaced by aching longing.

There was a shuffling noise of fabric falling away and she looked down as Jacob climbed between her legs again, his voice low and rich in its satisfaction. “Three _and_ four. I'm _so_ good. You look absolutely debauched, by the way. Thoroughly fucked.”

There wasn’t really a retort for that. “Shut u—”

Before she could finish the sentence, he had lifted one of her calves up onto his shoulder. She barely had a moment to brace before she felt the hard intrusion of his cock, still somehow a stretch that made her convulse, full and aching and perfect.

“Hang on,” he muttered, pulling out for a moment to stand against the side of the bed, yanking her by the ankles to the edge. She certainly wasn’t going to argue, not when he lifted her hips and filled her again easily, the new angle meaning that each thrust rubbed _just_ right. So right, in fact, that it felt like it was leading to something again, building and building until she was keening as it broke—

She wasn’t even sure if this could technically be called a peak, but _oh_ , it felt nice. So nice— very nice— her brain wouldn’t form coherent thoughts, everything garbled by the sensation that she was a live wire, acutely aware of every touch and stroke. It was a haze so intense that she could hardly remember its like, her mind utterly empty except for Jacob’s movements, each thrust another shudder of pleasure, another tingling jolt that she felt right down to her toes. The look on his face as he worked over her, desperation mixed with focus and something softer that she couldn’t name, only heightened the feeling. Even when his movements became brutal, eventually hunching over her so that she had to tightly wrap her legs around his waist to stay on the bed, each slap of their skin together was _deliriously_ good.

Clinging to him, she let herself moan, the nearly-echoing noise somehow amplifying the experience. His strangled _Yes_ against her shoulder encouraged her, her moaning rising in pitch until it was almost a halting wail, stuttered by each driving thrust that emptied the air from her lungs.

When he reached a furious pace, she simply desperately held on, digging her nails into his back. Suddenly, he hissed and was trying to lightly push her away. “Evie—”

With a plaintive sound, she clung to him tighter. A distant part of her brain prodded that there was something that she needed to remember— something important— but she was too far gone to care.

Jacob’s voice sounded wrecked, and whatever it was that he was trying to convey, his hips were still snapping at full force and his resolve was clearly half-hearted. “Eves, we can’t—”

Not sure how else to make him stop talking, she reached up and sank her teeth into his shoulder.

With a hiss and a surprised jerk, Jacob shuddered, pressing in hard as he pulsed. For her part, she tightened her grip, a deeply primal part of her brain practically purring with satisfaction. It was the closest that two human beings could physically be, and it felt so deeply _right_.  

When he rolled off of her, panting, she basked in the high for a few seconds more, revelling in the glorious ache, the sore muscles, the slick between her…

Between her—

She sat up with a jolt, looking down in dismay. “ _Shit_. Shit!” She’d somehow managed to completely forget the lack of a skin, the cautionary measures that they usually took.

“I tried to warn you,” Jacob said, one arm over his face, barely concealing the dopey smile. He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “You didn’t listen.”

With a groan, she flopped back again. It was hard to deny that there was some part of her that was a little bit glad. It had been so easy to get wrapped up in the domestic fantasy of this ‘honeymoon’, the lack of secrecy, the legitimacy of their supposed marriage. It was such a tempting image. 

Ah well. It was done now. She shifted her legs up, definitely not as alarmed as she should’ve been by the sensation of his spend between her thighs. It couldn’t happen again, but then, it couldn’t be undone. It had taken Father and Mother three years to conceive- she knew as much from a comment that Father had once made in passing. And they had been actively trying.

Rolling over, she pressed herself against Jacob’s side, ignoring the sheen of sweat covering them both. It would probably be fine.

He craned his neck and gave her his laziest grin. And oh, but that grin gave her ideas.

Tracing her finger down his chest, Evie looked up at him through her lashes. “So, what do you say we give that another go?”

His eyes narrowed. “Give me a minute and you’re on.”

\---

The next morning, when they went down for breakfast, they abruptly came face to face with a pair that could only be the couple in the room above them. 

There was a glimmer of joint recognition; Jacob certainly stood a little taller, smirk wide on his face. It was all Evie could do to not smile outright. The other young woman, meanwhile, had turned an alarming shade of scarlet and was quickly hustled away by her young husband, his shoulders tense with embarrassment. Moments later, a bored looking maid appeared, gesturing them to a corner. “Mr. and Mrs. Langdon, this way, if you please.”

Once they were seated, Evie delicately spread out her napkin and smiled across the table. “Well? Do you feel like you won?”

Reaching for the tub of butter, Jacob shot her a grin, eyes practically dancing. “Without a doubt."

 

 


End file.
